This Way Comes
by ahawkandahandsaw
Summary: Season 7 AU. Sam, Dean, and Bobby find an unlikely ally in the fight to save Cas. In the process they begin to learn more about the universe and their own lives than they ever imagined. Non-Canon characters are introduced. *Chapter 4 is now up!*
1. What Fresh Hell

Dean blinked, and found himself back at Bobby's.

One moment he, Sam, and Bobby had been staring at Cas, listening to him order them to profess their love. The next, he was standing in Bobby's living room, surrounded by the familiar smell of Old Spice and whiskey. But there was someone else in the room. He could sense it.

"Alright you three?" A familiar British accent asked from behind him.

Dean turned. Crowley was standing there. Bobby was attempting to support a slumped over Sam long enough to get him to a chair.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now." Dean growled at Crowley.

"How about he was doing my bidding. Not to mention he just saved your life, and that of your friend and brother," a dark voice hissed from the chair behind Bobby's desk. Death was sitting there in his typical black suit, Tessa the Reaper standing at his side. Death motioned at Bobby. Tessa went over and helped him get the unconscious Sam to the window seat. They laid Sam out, resting his head on a pillow.

"Now. Be civilized. I need to speak to you. All of you." Death looked pointedly at Crowley.

"Fine." The Demon sat in an old, rickety chair and crossed his arms.

"I hate to interrupt this little pow-wow, but you are aware the 'New God' is, at any moment, going to descend upon this house and most likely turn it and everything inside it into a pile of ash?" Dean finally spoke.

"Dean," Bobby growled, looking pointedly at Death.

"It's alright." Death sighed contemptuously. "Dean, remember what I told you in Chicago."

"You told me a lot of things in Chicago." Dean said evenly.

Death chuckled. It was a vile, cold sound. "That I did. I am referring to the piece I told you about myself and God."

Tessa's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Someday you will reap him too."

"Precisely." Death stared into Dean's soul. "And believe me, no matter how many souls he swallows, this wayward angel is no God."

"You're not going to – You can't!" Dean was shocked.

"I can. But I won't, for now." Death said. He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Tessa." Tessa stepped forward. "Bind them."

Bobby and Dean both stepped back.

"Now listen here –" Bobby began.

"All she is to do is ward you from Castiel's eyes." Death assured them.

"If it makes you feel better, he already did it to me," Crowley smirked. "Tickles."

"Then let him do it. Don't send your little bitch to do your bidding." Dean spat. Tessa's eyes narrowed. "No offense." He reassured her. Tessa glared.

Death thought for a moment. "Fine. Come here." Dean stepped forward, but Bobby paused. Death raised his eyebrow.

"Bobby," Dean jerked his head at Death. Bobby hesitantly stepped forward.

Death reached out, placing his hand over Dean's heart. A deep cold slid into his chest, wrapped itself around his heart, and squeezed. Dean gasped in pain. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't move. The cold spread from his heart with every beat. Ice ran through his veins instead of blood.

Bobby stared. Dean's veins were turning dark blue – they shone black through his skin. "Stop!" he yelled. "You're going to kill him!" he rushed forward. Tessa grabbed his arm in a vice. Try as he might, Bobby couldn't shake her off.

Moments later, the black receded from Dean's veins. It drew back into his heart, 'til the cold finally drew back into Death's hand.

Dean stood frozen, without even breathing, then suddenly moved. He placed his hand on the desk to steady himself. "What," Dean panted, "Was that?"

"You have been marked by Death." Tessa finally spoke. "You should be grateful."

"Grateful? That he didn't reap him?" Bobby asked.

Death waved Tessa down. "She means no harm." He turned back to Dean. "You now bear my mark. You are hidden from all eyes – angel, demon, human – but not mine. So don't think you can betray me."

Dean clutched at his heart through his clothes. "What is it? Some sort of angel sigil thing?"

"Not nearly. Angel sigils simply sit on your bones. My mark courses through you with every beat of your heart. Your turn." He looked at Bobby.

Bobby looked at Dean, who nodded encouragingly. He stepped forward, allowing Death to mark him as well.

"Now that that business is taken care of," Crowley piped up, "Why exactly am I still here?"

"You all need my help." Death said.

"Look, thanks for saving me and all, but I think I'll be going now." Crowley stood and tried to vanish, but Death was keeping him there.

"Demon." Death growled at him. Crowley sat back down.

"Dean. Your brother is suffering more than you could possibly imagine. You spent decades in Hell – he spent centuries. I have information that can help you. Crowley, you won't be able to hold Hell for long if Castiel manages to round up the rest of Raphael's followers. The same information can help you."

"What information?" Dean asked.

"Information about my sister – and the others' sisters." He replied.

"Your sister?" Crowley looked at Death, sizing him up. "I thought she was a metaphor. A symbol, perhaps."

"Until a few years ago you thought the same thing about me."

"True." Crowley replied. "But you can't actually expect me to believe she actually exists. I have no reason to believe you."

"Why would I lie to you?" Death pointed out. "I have nothing to gain from a lie."

"Or from the truth." Bobby added. For the first time Death looked at Bobby as if he really noticed him.

He turned his head to Dean. "She's the only one who can save your brother."

Dean's eyes lit up. "She can help Sam?"

"The only one that truly can."

Dean looked at Bobby, who nodded slightly. "What do you need from us?"

"Simply your voices. No supernatural being can summon my sister, and much as it pains me to admit, she has been ignoring my requests."

"What else?" Bobby asked. When Death looked at him, he clarified. "What else is needed for the summoning?"

"This is where Crowley comes in. We need a hellstone, and the feather of an angel. The blood of a reaper I can supply," he motioned at Tessa, "As well as the final requirement."

"A hellstone?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah." Crowley replied. "Easy enough to find, they're scattered all over the place down there. It's the angel feather that's going to be difficult. Know any angels that would be willing to give it up?" Bobby glared and started to open his mouth.

"I had hoped," Death interrupted before things could get heated between the demon and Bobby, "That you would've thought ahead and grabbed a feather from Balthazar's body before you rescued the hunters." He looked pointedly at Crowley. "But seeing as you didn't . . . "

"Hold on a moment, dead man. Who said I didn't think ahead? Maybe I did, and I'm just waiting for the right offer." Dean and Bobby started to reach for the holy water and salt placed strategically around the room.

"Give us the feather and I won't strike you down where you stand." Death's tone was even, sure.

"Right offer." Crowley procured a handful of feathers from the inner pocket of his jacket. They were small, clearly from the tips of the wing. They looked as though they were made of shadow – there one moment, gone when the light shifted. He passed them across the desk to Death, who handed them to Tessa.

"Now we just need the hellstone. How do we get a hellstone?" Dean asked.

"Hellooo!" Crowley waved, "Demon, remember? King of Hell? Can poof down there whenever I feel like it? Any of this ringing a bell in those thick hunter skulls?" Dean and Bobby looked at each other. Crowley rolled his eyes. "Just give me a minute."

Crowley vanished. An awkward silence descended on the room. Dean finally broke it. "So," he said, looking at Tessa, "Reaped anyone famous recently?"

"You hear about the inventor of the Segway driving off a cliff in one?"

"Yeah."

"That was a fun one." Tessa just stared blankly at Dean. There was something off about her. Dean walked over, waving his hand in front of her face. There was no reaction.

"What did you do to her?" Dean abruptly turned on Death.

"She has an irrational fear of knives. In order to take her blood, she must be cut. I thought the easiest thing to do would be to hypnotize her so she doesn't end up seriously hurting herself or whoever it is that draws the blood."

"So you mean you're just going to take it from her?" Dean exploded. "Without her consent? This is her blood, not yours! Just because you're Death doesn't mean you can take whatever you want!"

Death held up a hand, palm out. Dean stopped talking. "She told me I could take her blood. I would never take it without her permission. Plus, don't you know anything about hypnosis? If the subject isn't willing, they can't be hypnotized." Death looked at Tessa fondly. "She's quite helpful. Told me to try the pizza in Chicago. If it weren't for her that city would no longer be standing."

Dean looked from Death to Tessa. He saw the look in Death's eyes – it was all a bit suspicious. "Are you two . . . you know . . . _together_?" he asked. Death stared blankly at him. "I mean . . . come on . . . you may be Death but you've got to know what I'm talking about here . . . are you two . . . a _thing_?" Death showed no change. "Seriously? You don't know what I'm talking about?"

"The moron wants to know if you two are boinkin' each other." Bobby interrupted. Dean stared at him, flabbergasted.

Death smiled coldly. "Ah. You should have just asked me Dean. I don't bite. Unless it's your time. And to answer your question, no, we are not – how did you put it – _together_. From what I understand that would be frowned upon by your society."

"What? You mean the age difference? Let's face it buddy, if you're dating anyone there's going to be an age difference. Plus it's not my place to judge." Dean said quickly.

"Not the age difference." Death looked up at Dean through heavily lidded eyes. "You mean it never occurred to you? Almost every time you've seen me I've been with her."

Understanding lit in Bobby's eyes. "Oh," he said.

"What?" Dean asked, looking back and forth between the two. "What?"

Bobby turned to Dean. "Tessa is Death's daughter."

"You have a _daughter_?" Dean looked shocked.

"What? Just because I'm Death I can't have a family?"

"No, it's just . . . I mean you're . . . But I thought . . . So does this mean all reapers are your children?"

"Not at all. Tessa's only a reaper because that's what she wanted to be. I gave her the option of being human, but she asked if she could be a reaper instead. So I made her a reaper, and eventually she proved herself to be quite capable."

Crowley appeared in the middle of the room, his hand smoking. "Got it," he said. He walked over to Death and opened his hand. In it sat a small, jagged stone. It was red, but not the way sandstone is red. It looked like there was lava swirling at its core. Smoke rose from the stone, filling the room.

Death took it. Suddenly his bag appeared on the desk. With his free hand he reached in and took out a stone mortar and pestle set. He placed the hellstone in the mortar, and ground it into a fine fiery dust. Then he took the feathers from Tessa, setting all but one aside. The dust was still smoking when he added the feather, but the feather didn't catch fire. He reached back into his bag and withdrew a sharp flint knife, an ancient looking book, and a vial with some sort of dried leaf in it.

"Here." He passed the book to Dean. "It's the first incantation. It'll appear phonetically, so just pronounce the words and sounds as you would in English." Dean carefully opened the book to the first page. Death was right. While the words didn't make sense – they were strange series of sounds – he could easily pronounce them just by sounding them out.

Death then took the knife in one hand, Tessa's hand in the other. Carefully he cut across her palm. It was shallow, and bled very little. He caught some on the knife, and used that to spread a few drops on top of the stone and feather. Finally, he took the dried bits of leaf and sprinkled them over the whole concoction.

"What is that?" Bobby asked, his interest in summoning rituals outweighing his fear of interrupting.

"A leaf from the Tree of Life." Death replied absent-mindedly.

Dean and Bobby looked at each other in shock.

"Oh come on boys. Would you stop being surprised by every little thing?" Crowley asked, clearly annoyed by their lack of knowledge regarding the ritual. "How are we supposed to summon Life without a leaf from the Tree of Life?"

"Wait. What?" Dean asked.

At the exact same moment Bobby exclaimed, "We're summoning Life?"

"Who else would my sister be. Everyone, stand in a circle." Everyone shifted so they formed a circle with Death at its head. Death looked up from the mixture in front of him. "Dean, please read the incantation."

"First, tell me this: Will summoning your sister cause some great natural disaster or anything like that?"

"No." Death stated. "Read." He ordered.

Dean began to read from the book. As he did, Death took two candles from his bag, one black and one green. He passed his hand over the green one, lighting it. Then he touched the wick of the black candle to that of the green. It immediately caught fire. He set the black one to the left of the mortar. Reverently, he touched the green candle to the tip of the feather. Slowly, the flame crept its way from the candle's wick to the feather, up the shaft of the feather, and touched the remnants of the hellstone. The moment the flames licked the red dust, the entire mortar burst into flames. Dean's eyes widened, but he kept reading.

As the flames went higher, a wind rose in the room. It encircled them, tugging at their clothes and messing their hair, but it didn't touch any of the papers or books.

"Keep reading." Death instructed.

Dean flipped to the next page. He continued reading, and the wind continued to blow. Eventually the wind was so strong they had to fight to keep standing. The flames burnt out, and the ashes were picked up by the wind. With what felt like hurricane force, the ashes were flung through the air, getting in their eyes, coating their flesh, tingeing them red. Dean reached the end of the incantation.

The wind stopped.

The ashes disappeared.

In the middle of the circle stood a woman.

She seemed young, no more than thirty. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The tracksuit she was wearing flattered her athletic figure, and it looked like she had just been interrupted during her morning jog. Her brown eyes peered out of a round face, clearly annoyed. She crossed her arms, looking at Death.

"I hope you're happy." A soprano voice spilled from her lips.

"Not at all." Death replied.

"Well it's not my fault. She told me to come instead. She's busy."

"Busy?" Death raised an eyebrow.

"Busy. Since she found out the space program was being shut down due to budget cuts she decided now would be a good time to have some fun on Mars. Lay some red herrings for the next rover or astronauts that manage to get there."

"Ah yes, ever the trickster." Death sighed.

"Hold up." Dean interrupted. "Is this your sister?"

"No." Death replied. "This is Health, Pestilence's sister."

"Nice to meet you." She nodded at the surrounding people.

"So where the hell is your sister? She was supposed to help my brother!" Dean yelled.

"It would appear," Death remained calm on the surface, "That my sister is currently laying evidence of life on Mars. So she sent her friend in her stead."

"Well that's just peachy!" Dean exclaimed. "Your sister is busy screwing around with people while my brother lies there fighting for . . . whatever it is he's fighting for!" He pointed at Sam on the window seat. At some point his eyes had opened, but they remained blank, unseeing.

Health walked over to Sam. "What's wrong with him?"

"His soul was in the Pit." Bobby told her. "The wall Death put up to block the memories was removed, and now – looks like he's catatonic."

"Right." Health said. She was on her knees next Sam, examining him for other signs of injury.

She looked at Death. "You put up the wall?" He nodded. She stood, and looked straight at Dean. "Look, I can't heal your brother. It's his soul that's injured, not his mind or his body. Healing the soul . . . that's Life's domain. But I may be able to help until you can get a hold of her. Basically I can put a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound. It won't be pretty, but it'll be better than now."

"Will he remember anything?" Dean asked, looking at his brother with concern.

"Yes. All of it." She didn't mince words. "But he won't relive the pain every moment. There'll be bad days and worse days, but he'll live. For now."

"How much time would he have?"

"A couple months. Maybe half a year. If you're lucky. But at least you'll have time to either find Life or some other way to get him help."

"Is he going to be… Different?"

"Again, yes. Do you know what schizophrenia does to a person?"

Dean shook his head, but Bobby said, "Yes."

Health turned to address Bobby. "It'll be like that, only much, much worse. He'll see things, hear things. He'll have violent hallucinations. He'll scream in terror for hours when there's nothing to hurt him. But there will be times he seems normal. Just be aware, even in these times of normalcy he is entirely capable of snapping and hurting the nearest person."

"So it'll be like when he went through withdrawal with the demon blood." Dean said.

"No." she replied forcefully. "It will be much, much worse. And as time goes on he'll begin to feel the pain of the memories as well as just remember it. This will not be easy." Her look softened. "It might be best just to leave him there. At least he can't hurt anyone else."

"Is he in pain right now?"

"Excruciating."

"Do it." Dean waved his permission to her and turned away, unable to watch. Bobby came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. A blinding white light flared from behind them. A moment later it was gone. They turned.

Sam was blinking, a confused, pained look on his face.

"Come here." Health said in a calm, reassuring voice. Sam sat up, allowing her to place her hand on the crown of his head. His body relaxed, the pain ebbing from his face.

Dean walked over and knelt next to his brother. "Sam?" He said quietly.

"Hey Dean." Sam said. He looked ragged, like he had aged decades in the hours since the wall had come down. "What happened to m—" He stopped short. A look of absolute terror crossed his face. "Oh god. I remember. Oh god." He looked at the familiar faces of those around him, but what he saw were twisted visages of demons, black-eyed and evil, and there in the corner… but it couldn't be. He scrambled back, trying to get away, pressing his back to the glass in the window.

"No, Sam. Sam." He heard Dean's desperate voice and looked back to his brother. Dean's face had been skinned. The muscles and bones were visible, blood gushing every time he moved his mouth. He looked to Bobby. Bobby was being eaten away by acid, his flesh sizzling and dissolving into a puddle at his feet. "Sam, please, come back. It's all right. No one is here to hurt you. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. You're hallucinating."

"No!" Sam protested, shaking his head violently. "No!"

"Sam." Bobby joined Dean next to his brother. "Sam listen to me. Where are you?"

"I'm in your house, but it's not your house." The room had shifted around him. Everything looked like it was on fire. Strange shadows flickered on the walls – shadows torturing other shadows. He looked down at his chest. There was a gaping hole above his heart. He could see it beating in his chest, and next to it his lungs were moving in and out. As he breathed, a black substance crawled along them, turning the pink flesh grey. _Smoke_ thought Sam. "Oh god everything's on fire! We have to get out of here!" He tried to stand, but the demons claiming to be Dean and Bobby pushed him back down. "No, you don't understand!" he tried to tell them. But even as he tried to fight them off, he looked down at his chest. His heart caught on fire. Flames were licking the inside of his ribcage. He was burning from the inside out.

"Sam!" Bobby shouted. Sam looked at him, eyes full of fear. "Listen to me Sam. You said we're in my house. That's right. But the house isn't on fire. Look at that mirror." He pointed to a mirror on the wall across from them. "Look at it. Is the house on fire?"

Sam looked into the mirror. In it he saw Dean and Bobby, not demons, just themselves, looking at him with concern. The house wasn't ablaze. Crowley, Death, Tessa, and a woman he didn't know were standing off to the side.

He looked back to his surroundings. Slowly, the flames began to recede. The shadows dissolved, and the hole in his chest knit closed. When he looked back at Dean and Bobby, their faces were returning to normal. He looked at the corner, but nothing was there. He embraced his brother, sobbing into his shoulder.

"How did you know about the mirror trick?" Health asked Bobby.

"I didn't. I was just hoping it would work." He confessed.

"Don't expect it to work every time. Especially when he gets worse." Health looked on sorrowfully.

"I'm going to get worse?" Sam asked, breaking away from Dean.

"Maybe." Health lied.

"Well let's hope not." Sam said. He carefully stood, his legs wobbling a bit. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. When his eyes rested on the woman in the tracksuit, he looked puzzled.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Sam, this is Health. She's Pestilence's sister." Dean explained. "Apparently each of those assholes has a much nicer sister."

"Oh." Sam simply accepted what his brother said to be true. He was far too tired to argue.

"So now what?" Dean wheeled on Death. "If Sam has any hope of getting better we have to find your sister."

"Yes." Death said, thinking. "I think I have an idea. If we—"

Castiel appeared in their midst. Dean started to push Sam back while Crowley lunged at them. Crowley grabbed Bobby's wrist and put his hand on Dean's shoulder. They blinked out. The last thing Dean saw was Castiel's confused expression.

They reappeared in a field outside Lawrence, Kansas.

"What the hell was that?" Dean yelled at no one in particular. "I thought Cas… God… whatever he is wasn't supposed to be able to find us! Death's mark and all that?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "That spell you used back there to summon Life? Even though it didn't work quite the way we hoped it was still powerful magic. And then she healed Sam. Our location was shining like a beacon. It was only a matter of time before one of Castiel's little minions ran and told him we were there. He would've seen us himself if he weren't so busy playing God and smiting Raphael's followers in Heaven."

"Come on." Bobby growled. "We need to find shelter."

The four made a sorry sight walking towards Lawrence. At the edge of town they found an old warehouse near the abandoned railroad tracks.

"In here." Crowley ushered them in.

It was dank and dusty, but it was shelter. Sam flopped down on the floor. He was exhausted, but there was no time to sleep.

"So, fill me in." Sam told them. "Last thing I remember is Cas declaring himself the new God."

Dean and Bobby took turns filling him in while Crowley kept watch.

A couple minutes later, Death, Tessa, and Health appeared in the warehouse. The only indication there had been any sort of altercation was the blood on Health's hand. It was coated from fingertips to wrist joint, a sticky red. Death walked forward and knelt by Sam, placing his hand over Sam's heart. Dean and Bobby watched as Sam received Death's mark.

"We should move again." Death said. "I don't know if Castiel was able to track us, but Sam has been here without my mark. We must go quickly."

Crowley walked over, putting one hand on Dean's shoulder, the other on Bobby's. Dean placed his hand on his brother's head. Crowley nodded at Death. "See you there."

Again they vanished. This time they found themselves in what appeared to be an abandoned house. Upon closer inspection, it appeared the family who owned the house was on vacation. Death and Health appeared. Health's hand was no longer bloody.

"I sent Tessa on a little errand. Now, let's talk." Death said. They went into the living room. Sam, Dean, and Bobby sat down on the couch. Sam began to doze, his head lolling onto his brother's shoulder. Dean let him be. Death and Health took up two of the armchairs. Crowley chose to remain standing.

"First, what happened back there?" Dean asked.

"Castiel tried to fight us." Health explained. "He didn't seem to realize one of only two beings more powerful than himself was in the room." She looked pointedly at Death. "He decided to come after me first. I held my own. And in the process, I managed to release a few of the souls he devoured."

"How many?" Crowley interrupted.

"Not enough to make a real difference. A few hundred, perhaps. But it was enough to stun him. While he was still reeling we decided it would be wiser to leave the fight for another day. So we left him there and joined you."

Dean looked at Death. "So what was that idea you were talking about before Cas showed up?"

"My sister has a certain attachment to the idea of balance. With God nowhere to be found, it has thrown the universe off-kilter. I think she believes Castiel becoming the new God wouldn't be such a terrible thing. What if we were to in some way jeopardize his ascension? She would have no choice but to interfere or let the universe be thrown even more off balance. There are rumors of a book, a powerful grimoire written in Sumerian. Within its pages are said to be some of the most powerful exorcisms ever written. There's one in particular. It doesn't work on angels or demons, or any other parasitic entity. It is capable of exorcising a person's soul, leaving nothing but their empty body behind. I think with the right alterations this could be used to exorcise the souls from Castiel. Once they have been exorcised we can return them to purgatory. My sister will no doubt feel this sudden shift. When she appears, I can bend her to my will. She can mend Sam's soul and some of the harm Castiel has done. Then we can all go back to the way things were before this whole purgatory mess began."

Health nodded slowly. "That might actually work."

"Wait, whoa. Slow down there, pony-girl. Just where the hell have you and your hippie, flower-power buddies been this whole time? I mean we were in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse! We could've used your help." Dean fell silent, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what he had just said.

"For your information," Health rolled her eyes, "We were ordered to stay out of it."

"Stay out of it?" Crowley broke in. "Ordered? You're the sisters of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, no one orders you around."

"Except for the head sister." Health glanced at Crowley.

"Life ordered you to stay out of it?" Death asked, his brow furrowing.

"Yeah." Health said, looking back at him. Their gazes spoke volumes.

Bobby broke the uncomfortable silence. "So what do we call you four anyway?" he asked Health. "The Sisters of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is a bit of a mouthful."

Health gave a little half smile. "I'm fine with Pony-Girls. Just don't call us that in front of Life. If you haven't figured it out yet, she has a ten-foot stick up her ass."

Dean guffawed. Crowley chuckled. When they noticed each other laughing, they stopped.

"Well boys, guess this means we're on the same side now." Crowley said. "Too bad. I'd have liked to give kissing Bobby another go. The beard tickled."

Bobby flushed. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I kiss you again, demon."

"Well then, it's good to be king." Crowley smiled. Bobby just couldn't win. He wandered off, looking for a beer, muttering something about demons and idjits.

Death looked pointedly at Crowley. "I expect you to be of assistance when the Winchesters or I require it."

"Of course." Crowley bowed stiffly. "But right now I have a kingdom to get to and queues to lengthen. With your permission?" Death waved his hand dismissively, and Crowley vanished.

Bobby reentered the room. "Can you believe it? All I can find is champagne and margarita mix. What is this? A sorority house?"

"I don't know, Bobby." Dean said. Bobby sat down in a huff, disturbing Sam's sleep. He sat up, eyes unfocused. "If we're supposed to find this book we should probably get going now." Dean addressed Death. "Mind if we get out of here?" He began to stand.

"Don't you need to know where you're going first?" Death asked.

"That would probably be a good idea." Dean said, returning to his seat. "So, where are we headed?"

"Canaan, New Hampshire. Rumor has it that's where the book was last seen." Health said. "Since we're in Oregon, I'll pop you back to Bobby's place before I leave." She helped Sam up. Bobby slipped under his other arm to help support him.

"And just how are we supposed to get there? My car was demolished by that pack of demons." Dean snapped.

"Tessa should have repaired it and returned it to Bobby's by now." Death said coldly.

"Oh. Thanks." Dean sounded meek.

"One more thing." Death added as Dean went to join them. "If my sister should discover our plot, it would be quite unfortunate. Do not freely discuss our plans. I may be more powerful than my sister, but she has a nasty temper. She could cause you harm, so be careful."

"Will do." Dean nodded. Health reached out her free hand. Dean took it, and moments later Death was alone.

He sat, his vast and ancient mind mulling over the recent events. An old friend came to mind. "You're a woman, little sister," he murmured. "And God help you."

The room was empty.

Health, Bobby, Sam, and Dean appeared in Bobby's living room. It was pristine, despite the supposed battle between Cas and Health. Sam was finally awake. He still had a distant look in his eyes, but he was able to stand on his own, and he wasn't screaming.

"I think I'm going to go lay down." He said.

"Good idea." Health told him. She watched him walk up the stairs. Bobby went and grabbed three beers from the fridge. He handed one to Dean and Health, then twisted the top off his own.

"Looks like that battle went well. What did you two do, race to see who could put more books back on the shelf?" Bobby quipped. Health rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're good at that." He took a chug from his beer.

Health laughed. "I just did what I could." She looked out the window. It was dark out, and deep shadows played tricks even on her mind. She looked to Dean. "Take care of your brother. He's . . . fragile."

"You're telling me. Chick flick moments every other minute." Dean took a drink.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." Dean wouldn't look her in the eye. "Dean, look at me. I need to know you're listening." He reluctantly looked at her. Health's eyes swam with amber concern. "You're brother is going to seem okay, at least for now. I didn't want to tell you this in front of him, but there are signs my help is already wearing off. And it's all downhill from here. He's going to have nightmares, that's a given. Like you saw earlier, they'll bleed into his everyday routine. But it will get so much worse. One day he'll open his eyes and be showering in molten rock instead of water. And it won't go away. Not with a mirror, not with a nap – all water will remain molten rock. Your body will turn itself inside out in front of him, and no matter how hard he tried he won't be able to put you right in his mind. Eventually it'll be just like he's back in the Pit, even though he's just sitting on the couch."

Tears began to fill Dean's eyes. "I – I can't watch him go through that."

"I know. Believe me, I do. But you'll have to be ready." Health reached into the pocket on her jacket and pulled out what looked like a business card. "Look, if you need me, call the number on the card. It's my direct line. Only use it if you absolutely need to."

"So you can just fix Sam anytime he starts to crumble?" Dean looked hopeful.

"No, I can't." Dean was visibly disappointed. "Unfortunately his condition is such that attempting to help every time he needed it would completely drain me. But, if for some reason you find yourself in dire need, I would be willing to spare some time."

"Yeah." Dean said dismissively.

Health looked at Bobby. "Thanks for the beer, but I should be going now." She set the full bottle down on Bobby's desk. This time, she took the front door. As she passed Bobby, she put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned down, and she whispered in his ear, "Take care of them. And yourself. But especially them." She looked back. Tears trickled down Dean's face as he stared at the floor. "They're our best hope for fixing all this." Bobby nodded.

The door opened, then slammed shut as a wind whispered outside. The light on the front porch flickered and went out.

"So," Dean said, wiping his face. "Canaan, New Hampshire. How far away is that?"

"Probably about sixteen hours from here. I'm assuming you'll take the Impala."

"That's the plan." Dean drained his beer. "Come on, let's see if we can find anything about this damn book. I'll leave at dawn."

"By yourself?" Bobby raised his eyebrow.

"Well, yeah."

"Sam won't be happy about that." Bobby pointed out.

"At least he'll be safe. Pissed off, but safe." Dean grabbed a likely book from the shelf behind him.

"Is any place safer than any other?" Bobby turned to another bookcase.

"Don't get all philosophical on me, Bobby."

"I'm not getting philosophical, I'm getting practical. Plus, we don't want to worry Sam. If you leave him here he'll start to think something's wrong."

"Something is wrong." Dean snapped the book shut, exchanging it for another on the shelf.

"And he'll need his brother to help him get through it." Bobby knew he had Dean there.

Dean refused to acknowledge his point. The two worked in silence until dawn. They found nothing solid, just hints of a powerful book, shrouded in death and mystery.

Sam woke up late, around noon. Dean loaded the Impala while Bobby filled Sam in on what they had found. They kept finding reasons to delay departure – the tires needed to be inflated, they needed to eat lunch, there was a book they forgot to check that night.

They finally left at five in the evening, and even then Dean was reluctant to leave. But Sam seemed normal enough. He hadn't had another serious episode since the previous evening, though he had had a few moments when he lost his train of thought, or glimpsed strange shadows.

Bobby waved as the boys pulled away. When they were out of sight, he went back inside and grabbed a beer. He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep until he heard from Sam and Dean again. He looked at the picture of Karen on the mantel. _Wish you were here_ he thought, knowing he was glad she wasn't. He took a swig from the cold brown bottle. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Something Wicked

Dean focused on the road in front of him. The Impala's headlights illuminated a never-ending stream of yellow dashes and reflective bumps interrupted by the lines of asphalt. He glanced at Sam in the seat next to him. His brother was snoring peacefully, for now. In a way Dean envied him. He had never been able to sleep in the car. If he was honest with himself, it was because he didn't trust anyone with his baby.

He looked down at the dash. The odometer said they were halfway there. They should be pulling in to town in about eight hours, at 10am. The road was straight and even. Dean felt his mind wandering, examining the past few days as he had thousands of times.

Dean dwelled on what had led them to this point. He knew he was just as much at fault as Cas. The never-ending list of what-ifs scrolled through his head like film credits. What if he had told Cas how important he was to him? What if he had put as much faith in Cas as Cas had put in him? What if he had said thank you?

Dean jumped at the clicks as the Impala started to drift across into the other lane. He tried to shake the feeling he would never be able to save Cas. Worry lines creasing his face, he refocused on the road.

Sam woke up around 8AM. They still had two hours until they reached Canaan. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"So what do we do once we get there?" he asked Dean.

"Not sure," Dean replied, "We're looking for a book that was written sometime in the 2nd or 3rd millennium BC, but it could've been as late as the 1st century AD. How many places could it be?"

"Clearly you've never stepped foot in a library or antiques store before." Sam shot at him. "This could take us days, if not weeks. Hell, even months! This isn't just a needle in a haystack; this is a specific needle in a field of needles."

"Well aren't you just a little ray of hope?" quipped Dean. He sighed, and looked at Sam. "Look, Sam, I know this is pretty much hopeless. But we have to try. We owe Cas. _I_ have to try. _I_ owe him." He focused back on the road, fighting back the ball in his throat.

Sam softened. "I know. So, what do we know?"

"Well, it's a book." Replied Dean.

"Thank you Captain Obvious. What did Bobby say about it? 'You'll know it when you see it'?"

Dean nodded.

"Death said it was written in Sumerian."  
>"And it's basically a compendium of exorcisms. What did Death call it? A grimoire?" added Dean.<p>

"It'll be inconspicuous, whoever has it probably won't know what they have." Sam pointed out.

"_If_ someone has it." Dean amended.

"If." Sam agreed. "I just hope this isn't some wild goose chase. I mean, what if this is just the first stop on some crazy trip that ends with us finding the book and having it crumble in our hands?"

"Don't say that!" shouted Dean. "I know it's a possibility. Hell, what did you think I was doing the entire time you were sleeping? I was going over in my head how many different ways everything has and could go wrong. If it can happen, I've thought of it. Just please!" he begged, "Don't mention it out loud."

Sam looked at Dean, true concern in his eyes. He knew his brother had a bond with Castiel. Cas was the one that had saved him from Hell. But he hadn't realized Dean was this worried about the angel. They fell into an awkward silence for the remaining two hours.

Dean turned off State Route 4, putting the Impala in park. Sam looked up at the white one-story building in front of them.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I thought you'd know a library when you saw one." Dean replied.

"Dean," Sam looked at him slightly shocked, "That's not a library. That's a _barn_."

"Well it's the best thing they've got. I figured you could start here, I'd go find us a hotel room, and check out the local area for anywhere else the book could be."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he opened the door and clambered out of the Impala. He grabbed his backpack from the seat behind him and threw it over his shoulder. Beyond Sam, Dean could see clouds quickly covering the sky. It was unusual to go from completely clear to dark and overcast, but it was nothing alarming at this time of year. Dean's hunter sensibilities were getting the better of him. Sometimes he started seeing cases where there weren't any, just so he could pretend things weren't so terrible.

Slamming the door shut, Sam strode towards the library. Dean pulled out of the parking lot and continued on down the road.

He noted the grocery store and a couple of restaurants. When he saw Parker Street he turned, hoping to find a hotel somewhere along the road. He kept swiveling his head to the right and the left, but didn't see anything. He drove past the Canaan Police Department, and did a double take. It looked like the entire town was swarming around the building, the meager police force trying to keep them back. On a whim, he turned into the small asphalt lot, parking the Impala in the corner right by the road. Quickly, he dug through the glove box for his FBI badge. With one hand he shoved it in his back pocket, with the other he grabbed the piece from beneath his seat. He got out of the car, sticking the gun in the back of his pants, covering it with his shirt.

Dean forced his way through the crowd to one of the cops.

"Hey there." Dean said, pulling out the ID, "Agent Ulrich." He flashed the badge. "I was just passing through when I saw the crowd. Anything I can help with?"

The officer gave him a look of relief. "Yeah. We've got three dead bodies in there. These people are going nuts – it's the third set of murders we've had in two weeks. Head on in, Detective Zamora's in charge." The officer let him pass.

Dean calmly walked into the building. It was rather bare, with a secretary at the counter and a couple of desks for the on-duty cops behind it. He could hear voices coming from the back room. He flashed the badge at the dowdy secretary and walked on through to the back of the station.

When he opened the door, everyone fell silent. They all stared.

"Agent Ulrich." Dean held up the badge again. "I was passing through and noticed the crowd outside. One of the officers was kind enough to let me in. I was wondering if I could help."

A squat, balding man with the beginnings of a beer belly walked over, extending his hand. "Detective Zamora. Any help you could give us would be much appreciated."

Dean shook his sweaty hand, and walked over to the tables everyone was gathered around. He noticed he was in a one-room morgue. There was a freezer in one wall, and a series of instruments and chemicals lining another.

"This is Doctor Beasley, our local go-to medical professional." He gestured at a be-speckled, pepper-haired woman. She nodded, her complete focus on the body on the table in front of her.

"So," Dean asked, "What happened? I heard there have been three other murders like this one?"

"Yep." said Zamora. "This is the first one with more than a single victim, but they have to be related."

"How do you know?" Dean pressed.

"They've all been exsanguinated." Doctor Beasley cut in, her dark eyes never leaving the body. She was examining a male corpse. He looked like he had been about thirty. The next table over held a slightly smaller frame – a woman. The final one held a body barely three feet long. Dean tried to ignore that one.

"Completely?" he asked the Doctor.

"Yes." She replied. "There is a cut across the jugular and a stabbing wound that appears to have punctured the aorta, like a hunter bleeding his catch. If I had to guess I'd say they were hung upside down over a bucket or some other container, which caught the blood. I'm just surprised they were so thoroughly drained. Whoever did this has extensive medical knowledge."

"Like you?" Dean piped up.

Dr. Beasley finally looked up from the corpse. Her eyes blazed as she responded. "Like me. However, unlike this person, I have spent the past thirty-five years helping people. Healing them. I would _never_ do something so horrendous." She turned to look at the farthest table, the one bearing the smallest corpse, a deep sorrow creasing her worn face. "I delivered that one. Almost five years ago. And the parents, decades before that. I never thought I'd be burying them."

Dean nodded solemnly. "Sorry." There was a pause. "Is there any more information you can give me?"

"Yes. As unlikely as it seems, they were alive when their blood was drained. Just like the others. To find out anything else I'll have to perform the autopsies."

"Thanks, Laura." Detective Zamora sighed. She nodded at him, returning to the bodies.

As the Detective ushered him back into the main area of the station, Dean saw her gathering tools and chemicals.

"So, Agent, think you can help with this?" Zamora looked hopeful.

"I think so." Dean replied.

Zamora looked relieved. "That's great. It'll save me the trouble of calling you guys and having to wait a few days, maybe even a week, for some other agents to get here. Who knows what would happen in the meantime."

"Well, I'll do what I can." Dean said. "Do you think you could give me directions to a hotel? And the files for the first three murders would be helpful."

"Oh, sure! I'll get you everything we have on those murders, and the most recent ones. Let me walk you out." Zamora replied as he went to grab some files from one of the desks.

When they exited the building, the gathered crowd fell silent and stopped pushing.

"Hold on a moment," Zamora whispered. He stood to address the townspeople. "Everyone. Please remain calm. This," he pointed at Dean, "Is Agent Ulrich. He's with the FBI. He has told me he is willing to help us investigate these murders. I assure you we are doing everything possible to find the perpetrator and bring him or her to justice. Now please, go home. Be careful. Keep yourself and your families safe."

Zamora cut through the stunned crowd, Dean trailing behind him. Slowly everyone started to disperse. When they got to the Impala, Zamora whistled. "Nice car," he said, shaking Dean's hand again.

"It sure is," Dean agreed. "I'll just go get settled in at the hotel and familiarize myself with the case. I'll come back later this afternoon to go over the autopsy reports."

"Sounds like a plan." Zamora returned to the station.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot, and turned to go back the way he came.

Dean was sitting at the table reading the case file for the first murder. Kevin Garcia, 67. Retired Marine. His wife had died five years ago of cancer. He wouldn't have gone quietly. His grandchildren had found him when they came to visit – they ran in without waiting for their parents, and saw him lying on the table. Other than the gashes, there were no visible marks on the body. Other than the complete exsanguination, he was in perfect health. It sounded like a vampire, but vampires aren't nearly this clean in their kills. Maybe one of the Jefferson Starships got away.

Dean looked up as Sam walked in.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Perhaps." replied Sam, setting his backpack down on his bed. He nodded at the files on the table. "What're those?"

"I think I found us a case. Six dead in all. Started with one, then two, and early this morning they discovered three more bodies. All exsanguinated."

"It could just be someone killing people off, it's not necessarily a case." Sam pointed out.

"I know." Dean sighed, "Honestly Sam, I kinda hope it _is_ a monster. It's been a while since we had a good old-fashioned hunt. Plus, if it is a monster, it might have information about the book."

"Speaking of information about the book, I might have something." Sam paused.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"You never give me the satisfaction of asking what I found." Sam whined.

Dean rolled his eyes. "What did you find, Sammy?" he said, overly-cheerfully.

Sam scowled. "Don't call me Sammy."

"Then don't act like a whiny little girl."

The two glared at each other. Sam finally caved. "I couldn't find anything about an ancient book on exorcisms. However, I asked the librarian about any rare books, and she mentioned an Albert Classen. Some rich retired guy who moved to the country. He built this massive house and filled it with all sorts of antiques, especially antique books. Apparently he had quite the collection. He died just a few days ago. His family moved all of his stuff to a warehouse to be auctioned off in a couple weeks. They already had a buyer lined up for the house."

"Wow, cold bastards." Sam nodded his agreement. "So this guys' estate has the book?"

"It might. And even if it doesn't, it might have some other books with more information we could use to find the book."

"When's the auction?"

"Not for a couple weeks. They have to bury the guy first and settle up with the house."

"Good. That gives us time to work on this case."

"If we have a case."

"Come on, Sam. We can at least look into it."

"Fine." Sam sighed. "So what do you think it is?"

"My guess? Nest of vampires. Instead of everyone taking a bite the leader bleeds the victim and stores the blood like they would in a blood bank or hospital. Makes it a bit harder for any hunter to spot the nest, and the police force are likely to get so fed up they just find some chump to blame."

"Alright." said Sam. "So, let's find us some vamps."

Dean grinned at his brother, and Sam smiled back. When Dean returned to the case files, Sam let the smile slide off his face. He couldn't help but feel that this hunt wasn't going to be the trip down memory lane Dean so wanted it to be. His nostalgia was no match for reality. And from the dark corners of the hotel room, figures waved.

A couple hours later, Dean and Sam walked into the Police Department. Dean walked up to Detective Zamora, who greeted him with a hearty handshake. Zamora's brow crinkled when he saw Sam.

"Detective," Dean said, noticing Zamora's gaze, "This is my partner Agent Braunstein. Agent Braunstein, Detective Zamora."

The two shook hands, Zamora with some trepidation. "So why weren't you here earlier?" Zamora asked gingerly.

"Oh," Dean interjected, "He was running late. Had some paperwork to finish up on our last case. I decided to go on ahead. Turned out to be a good choice, since I wouldn't have seen the crowd outside if I'd stayed behind with him."

"Yes, of course." Detective Zamora nodded, the fog of suspicion easing from his demeanor.

"Did Doctor Beasley finish the autopsies?" Dean asked.

"She's just about to start the last one. You know where it is."

"Thanks." Sam said. Zamora turned to the sergeant at the desk, and Dean started to walk off. Sam quickly followed.

In the back room Doctor Beasley was bustling around the third table. A small body was stretched out in front of her. It was a small boy. He looked about five years old. It wasn't like everyone said – he didn't look like he was sleeping. He looked like he was dead. His dark hair contrasted starkly against the bloodless skin. There was no gaping hole in the chest, so they assumed Doctor Beasley hadn't started his autopsy yet.

"Mind if we sit in?" Dean piped up.

"Not at all. Gloves and masks are on that table. There's a bottle of peppermint oil for the smell." She jerked her head towards the back corner.

Dean introduced Sam, aka Agent Braunstein, as they pulled on gloves. Doctor Beasley mumbled in response, completely focused on the task ahead. As she arranged her tools, Sam and Dean put a couple drops of peppermint oil into their masks and tied them on.

"We all ready?" Dr. Beasley asked. The boys nodded.

Dr. Beasley turned on the tape recorder. "Autopsy of James Harold, five years old. June 30th, 2011. 3:47 PM. Attending medical examiner, Doctor Anne Beasley. With me are Agents Ulrich and Braunstein, FBI.

"There is one cut and one stab wound on the body. The cut is a straight, unhesitant slash originating approximately one and a half inches below the right ear and ending just below the left. It cut straight through the jugulars. The stab wound is in the upper abdominal region above the heart – it appears to have severed the aorta." Doctor Beasley examined the exposed flesh for a few minutes. "Other than the aforementioned cut and stab there are no visible marks on the body. I will now perform and internal autopsy to ascertain any damage beneath the surface."

Doctor Beasley picked up a scalpel. With a slurp she cut into the flesh. She made a precise Y-incision. As she pulled the skin back a sickening squelch was released. Sam looked on calmly, but Dean blanched. When Doctor Beasley picked up her rib cutters, Dean had to turn away, and Sam winced. After a series of sharp cracks, Doctor Beasley set down the cutters and resumed her narration. This kind of thing hadn't fazed them in a long time, but then again they had never witnessed the autopsy of a child.

"All major organs are the expected size. As previously thought, the aorta is completely severed. All indications support the initial belief – cause of death, exsanguination. Same as his parents." With that, Doctor Beasley turned off the tape recorder.

She turned to the boys. "I'm done. If you want you two can take a closer look – I'll be out front going over the paperwork and drinking some very strong coffee if you need me." Doctor Beasley whisked off her gloves and threw her mask in the trash as she headed out the door.

"What's her problem?" Sam asked once the door had shut.

"She delivered the kid and his parents." Dean removed the mask he had been wearing. He paused. "Do you smell that?" he asked Sam.

Sam removed his mask, giving his nose a moment to clear itself of the peppermint smell. "Yeah, there's something . . . But it can't be—"

"Sulfur." They chorused. Dean and Sam stared at each other for a split second, then the lights flickered.

Sam dived for the body while Dean reached into his holster. Sam began looking for signs of possession. Dean started loading his handgun with salt rounds.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Nothi— wait!" Sam slowly wiped the edges of the severed aorta and the slice across the neck. "What does that look like to you?" He showed Dean the stain on the white bit of cloth.

"Sulfur." Sam nodded his agreement. "So I guess we're looking for a demon, not a nest of vampires."

"Dean," Sam looked at his brother with concern, "What if this demon knows about the book?"

"Well, we'll just have to deal with that if it comes up. Right now I vote we get over to the warehouse and find that book."

"Alright." replied Sam. "But we should probably prepare for the worst."

They went to the warehouse the next morning. The place was huge and overflowing with the belongings of one Albert Classen. It was humbling in a way, to think of someone's life reduced to a series of purchases, however long that series was.

_We've salted every window; spread Devil's traps throughout the warehouse. We have Ruby's knife, holy water, and plenty of salt rounds. There's no way this demon is getting out of this warehouse once it's inside_ Dean kept reassuring himself. It felt good, all the preparing they did took him back to the days when he and Sam just drove around hunting monsters. And the pre-hunt adrenaline was starting to kick in.

"So, time to start digging," said Sam. The brothers looked up at the daunting shelving. Things were stacked from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall, with narrow walkways between rows. There didn't seem to be any particular order, though they did notice basic groupings: paintings here, old furniture there, various furnishings opposite racks of clothing and boxes labeled with varying degrees of detail. The books alone took up a third of the warehouse.

"This is gonna take a while." Dean sighed, grabbing the nearest book.

The boys waded through tome after tome. Some they could immediately weed out – books of poetry and fairy tales. Others they casually flipped through, looking for anything to indicate it might be helpful. And then there were the ones they actually paused to read sections of. Any that seemed they might be helpful went into a pile at the end of the row.

Once they went through all the books, they were left with an intimidating number of books to read more closely. Night had fallen, and their eyes strained to read the faded letters on the pages despite their flashlights. They sat next to each other, selecting books from the pile, reading pertinent sections, and just as easily tossing them aside. Sam would occasionally shake his head as if he were trying to clear his mind. Something was bothering him, but he was determined to find . . . whatever it was they were looking for. Dean pretended not to notice his brother's discomfort.

"This is impossible!" Dean exclaimed, throwing down his latest failure. "I mean, we don't even know if we're in the ballpark here. We could be—"

"Quiet." Sam hushed his brother. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" As the words left Dean's mouth, he heard a scraping. Suddenly, it dawned on him. _Something is here_ Dean thought. He clicked off his flashlight, Sam following his lead. They sat perfectly still, letting their eyes adjust to the sudden darkness.

Dean motioned at Sam to follow him. Quietly, Sam sat down his book and picked up the shotgun he had sat next to him at the beginning of the day. They stealthily made their way to the back of the warehouse, managing not to knock over any piles or trip on any stray antiques. They were attempting to get to one of the exits when they saw it.

A humanoid shape was prowling up and down the rows. It was agitated. _And female_ Sam realized. Images of Ruby and Meg flashed before his eyes, mixed with other, even more unsavory memories. But it couldn't be Ruby. And Meg wouldn't have come alone if she was looking for the book.

The figure paused halfway down the row. Sam and Dean froze. It was only about ten yards away from them. Sam felt his heart start pounding, convinced the figure could hear it.

The figure cocked its head to the side, listening. Then, it sniffed the air. _Why would a demon be sniffing the air?_ Dean thought. It wasn't adding up. _Either way, we clearly need to get out of here._ The figure resumed its examination of the items in front of it. _Now or never_ Dean realized. He turned his head, catching Sam's eye. He jerked his head forward, and Sam nodded in response. Cautiously they started to move again.

_Thud_. Sam's foot slammed into the side of the shelf. The boys froze once more, but it was too late. The figure turned towards them and growled. It stalked down the row, heading straight for them.

"Run, Sam!" yelled Dean, all pretext of stealth forgotten. They sprinted down the side of the warehouse, the figure close behind. They reached one of the doors, but it was locked. _It knew we were in here_ Dean thought. "This way!" he hissed as the figure rounded the corner of the aisle. They had nowhere to go but forward, around the outer edges of the warehouse. _It's herding us_ Dean felt his stomach flip. He grabbed Sam's jacket, tugging his brother down one of the rows.

They weaved in and out, the figure tracking their every move. Dean could hear it closing in. Somehow it managed to match every turn they made, and it was gaining speed as it came.

_Uh-oh_ Dean thought as he slammed into a dead end. _This is what it was trying to get us to._

"Nothing to do but stand and fight." He said to his brother. Sam nodded grimly. Sam flipped on his flashlight; setting it on a table at about waist height so it shone down the aisle. He aimed his shotgun back the way they'd come. Dean did the same with his flashlight. He took his flask of holy water in one hand, Ruby's knife in the other. _It's only a demon_ he kept reassuring himself. _You've fought them before. You and Sam are going to get out of this just fine, and end up arguing over pie about who was more scared_.

The figure barreled around the corner. Sam fired, but either he missed, or the salt rounds had no effect. Dean caught a glimpse of it, and it was no demon. Fangs had descended from the upper gums, bared in rage. It was a vampire, and from the way it was acting it was hungry; but not it, she. She was snarling, racing down the aisle towards him and Sam. Reflexively, Dean stepped in front of Sam. _This is it_ Dean thought _I'm going to die. Again!_ The vampire lunged, aiming for Dean's jugular.

WHAM. The vampire was thrown back. She looked around, bewildered. Sam and Dean stared in disbelief. She stood up, and threw herself towards the brothers once more.

Again, she was violently thrown back. She threw herself towards them again and again, and each time she was repelled. Dean grabbed his flashlight, shining it at the floor beneath her feet. A familiar etching peeked out from under the edge of an old rug.

"It's a Devil's trap!" he exclaimed. "Did you put one here?" he asked Sam.

"No. At least, not that I remember. It's kind of hard to tell where we are in the dark."

"Well where the hell did it come from?" The brothers jumped back, startled by the unearthly wail emitting from the vampire's gaping maw.

"I don't know."

"And more importantly, why is it holding a vampire?" Dean shone the light on the vampire. She flinched away from the light, hissing.

"She almost seems feral." Sam said.

"Maybe it's just really hungry," suggested Dean.

"I've read rumors of the bloodlust doing this to lone vampires, but usually it's only if they haven't hunted in a long time. She's alone, but if she's the one who has been committing all these murders there's no way she's hungry." Sam told him.

"Well, I vote we wait here and interrogate it once it calms down." Dean suggested. "Plus, I'm sure we could both use a little sleep."

Sam nodded in agreement. "I'll take the first watch." He volunteered.

"No, you go ahead and sleep. I'll take first watch. No way I could sleep now." Dean told him. Sam shrugged. He peeled off his jacket and wadded it up. He put it under his head as a makeshift pillow. Minutes later he was asleep.

Eventually, the vampire calmed down. She restlessly paced the breadth of the Devil's trap, never taking her eyes off the boys. Dean took this opportunity to take a closer look at the exposed part of the trap. It looked like Sam's work. And it made sense. Like he'd said, it was much harder to tell where in the warehouse they were when it was dark out.

The vampire curled into a ball, appearing to sleep. Dean didn't trust it. He fought his eyelids, refusing to sleep. A few hours before dawn he woke Sam. It was his turn to watch the thing. Now it was definitely asleep, but Dean still couldn't calm his mind enough to even feign sleep. _What are we going to do with this thing?_ He wondered.

When Dean woke up, the warehouse was illuminated by light pouring in from the windows. He sat up, blinking his vision straight.

Sam sat to his left, his back against one of the shelving units. He was staring intently at Dean.

"Dude!" Dean jumped. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," Sam whispered, "But that thing has been staring at me since it woke up." He jerked his head in the direction of the Devil's trap.

The thing was sitting cross-legged in the center of the trap. Expressionless, it stared at the boys. Dean stood, the thing's eyes following him. When he walked over to the edge of the Devil's trap, it didn't even blink.

"So, you want out?" Dean asked menacingly.

The thing didn't answer. It just continued to stare.

Dean knelt beside it. "Listen, sweetheart, we're going to kill you one way or the other. But if you talk, we'll do it the easy way, quick, clean, and painless. So you might as well talk to us." He let his warning sink in. "Now, is Eve your mommy?"

The thing laughed. It had a surprisingly feminine tone. "I don't have a . . . mommy, as you so eloquently put it."

"Well then who's your daddy?" Sam moved to stand behind his brother.

"I don't have _a_ daddy." It smiled villainously. "I have three."

"Start naming names," Dean pulled out Ruby's knife, "Or we'll start cutting off appendages."

It returned its expression to the blank stare.

"Okay then," Dean reached across the line of the Devil's trap to grab its hand.

The thing pulled back, hissing. "Don't touch me you pathetic empty vessel." It spat.

Dean and Sam looked at each other. "So you know who I am."

"Of course I know who you are." It rolled its eyes. "And the giant ape standing behind you is Sam." It lifted its eyes to Sam. "You should've just gone with it, Sam. We would've been great, you know."

Dean glared. "We? Lucifer's in the cage, bitch. Just who the hell are you."

The thing snapped its gaze back to Dean. "How sweet. Mistaking me for my grandfather. I'm flattered, really. But I'm just an underling. An important underling, but an underling all the same."

"How important?" Sam asked.

The thing smiled. "Very. Considering my humble beginnings."

"And just what beginnings are those?" Sam had taken over the interrogation.

"I was just a demon. Just your run-of-the-mill, black-eyed bitch. But now," it grinned, its fangs descending, "Now I'm so much more."

"You're a vampire." It was not a question.

"No."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm a lot like you, Sam."

"Shut your mouth you evil bitch you're nothing like—" Sam put his hand on his brother's shoulder, silencing him.

"How so?" Sam asked

"Not quite one thing. Not quite the other," it swayed its head side to side.

"So you're some sort of hybrid?"

"Not like your Prius, if that's what you mean." It scoffed. "I was an experiment. I was engineered to have all the strengths and none of the weaknesses."

"Well if your blood frenzy last night was any indication, you got some of the weaknesses." Dean said.

"I never said I was a successful experiment. But I was close enough for their purposes."

"Whose experiment?" Dean held her gaze, acting as emotionless as it looked.

It lifted its gaze to Sam once more. "One you were friends with." It returned its gaze to Dean. "And one you got to know really well in Hell."

"Alastair." Dean whispered, looking up at Sam.

"Well then mine must be Azazel." Sam replied.

"Bingo, boy-os." It smirked.

"Wait. You said there were three." Sam's comment wiped the smirk off its face.

"You've never met the third. Though I'm sure you soon will."

"What's his name?" Dean pressed, clearly getting exasperated.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Like I said, we can kill you quick, or we can make it slow." Dean casually played with Ruby's knife.

The thing's eyes narrowed. It sat in silence, observing the brothers. Sam started to shift uncomfortably. Dean stood, turning to his brother. He grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him out of earshot of the Devil's trap.

"Are you okay, Sam?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Sam replied. "Why?"

"I just can't have you going nuclear meltdown on me in front of this . . . whatever it is."

"Look, Health said I'd be fine for a while. The worst thing so far is that I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched." Sam admitted.

"Well then, let's get to it." The boys walked back over to the edge of the Devil's trap, this time standing shoulder to shoulder.

"So. Have you decided to tell us who the third demon is?" Dean menaced.

The thing sat, head down. When it finally spoke, its voice had lost its musical quality. "His name is Moloch."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Moloch. As in the ancient pagan god?"

"The same."

"But you're saying he's actually a demon?"

"Milton wasn't that far off. Many of the powerful demons set themselves up as gods on earth. Sometimes they even had contests – who could get the most child sacrifices by the end of the month and that sort of thing."

"So the three of them . . . created you?" Sam was confused. He had never heard of demons creating anything, except the other special children. An idea hit him. "Were you once human?"

The thing laughed. "Human? No. Well, my meatsuit's human. She's still here you know." Its eyes flickered upwards to see the reaction on the boys' faces. Neither looked surprised, but Dean looked furious.

"You get out of her you freak!" Dean yelled.

It cackled. "You think you can just command me to get out of here? Oh no. I like it in here. And even if I didn't, I couldn't leave. One of the unfortunate side effects of the procedure." It grinned evilly.

Dean and Sam looked sideways at each other. They hadn't expected this.

"Well, Sam. I guess it's back to the basics. Exorcise the bitch." Dean said.

Sam began to recite, "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_ _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._ _Ergo draco maledicte_ _et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te._ _cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_  
><em>eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.<em>"

With every word, the thing in front of them jerked. Slowly it was pulled to its feet, then clear off the floor. Light skimmed beneath the surface of its skin, as if lightening strikes were illuminating the darkness contained therein. Its eyes flashed between black orbs and the vivid green of the meatsuit. Wisps of black smoke rose from the corners of its mouth.

"It's working, Sam. Keep it up." Dean watched with wonder. He'd never seen a demon react this way to an exorcism.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_ _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._ _Ergo draco maledicte_ _et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te._ _cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_  
><em>eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.<em>" Sam continued.

Slowly, the jerking ceased. The flashes of light diminished, then vanished all together. The black in the eyes dissolved, the green shining through. But then, everything went wrong. The wisps of smoke were sucked back into the mouth of the meatsuit. The thing's feet touched back to the ground, its head lolling about on its neck.

Its head snapped forward, its posture perfect. Slowly, it exhaled. Its vivid green eyes shone. "Nice try, boys. But I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Dean and Sam turned their backs. "Sam, why didn't that work?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. That should have done it. I mean it's just a minor demon."

"Minor?" The thing interrupted. "Demon? Oh I'm not a demon any more. Demon implies frailty. And I am no longer frail."

"Then just what the hell are you?" Dean insisted.

"I already told you. I'm a hybrid. And if you can't tell what of, then you're far stupider than we were told."

"Clearly you're a demon/vampire hybrid." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Clearly." It said. "And clearly, the typical ways of ridding yourselves of demons and vampires won't work on me." They could see glimpses of fangs when it smiled.

"Well then, I guess we'll have to go off the books for this one." Dean said. "I'm going to step outside for a minute."

Sam watched Dean's retreating back, then turned back to the hybrid. It was standing right behind him, mere inches separating them. The line of the Devil's trap looked incredibly feeble.

"I wasn't lying, Sam." It said. "We would've been great together."

"In what capacity?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"You're one of them; the special children. You would have been the vessel of Lucifer himself, and you would have been triumphant. But in order for you to beat that pathetic daddy's boy, you'd need a general to lead your armies."

"And you would've been that general?"

"Me. Or one of the other hybrids." Its tone was casual. "But either way we would've worked together."

"Other hybrids?" Sam zeroed in on the fact there were more. Anything he could gather might be helpful.

"Oh yes. There were others. Still are, if they've got brains."

"So there's more half demon, half vampires running around out there?"

"And half demon, half shape-shifter. They might've even managed a few demon/werewolves before they were shut down."

"They were shut down?"

"Well, Moloch was. Alastair and Azazel were dead. Daddy dearest wasn't happy with their performance. I mean, killed by a walking mountain, a daddy's boy with the IQ of a goldfish, and an angel who can't even get his coat dry-cleaned? And Moloch couldn't even get a simple demon/vampire hybrid entirely right. So production was halted, Moloch was demoted, and we were set loose on the unsuspecting masses."

"So what's Moloch up to these days?" Sam tried to sound as casual as possible.

"Deposing Crowley."

"What?" Sam was shocked.

"What with Crowley topside helping you pathetic excuses for hunters, Moloch decided it was time to go back to the old ways. Lines may be hell for you, but for us the paperwork was a bitch."

Sam refocused on the matter at hand – the creation of the hybrids. There would be plenty of time to learn more about this Moloch character later. "Why vampires and shape-shifters?" Sam pressed cautiously – if he acted too eager the hybrid would just shut down.

"Being turned into a vampire or a shape-shifter doesn't alter basic anatomy. In theory, a demon could easily possess a vampire or a shape-shifter, if the laws of the universe allowed it. Werewolves and other monsters would be a bit harder since the foundations of the human anatomy are completely altered."

"How did you pick all this up?"

"Oh, I was in the facility for years. Some things I overheard. Others I was told. Many of them I simply picked up once I started assisting Moloch."

"How many years were you there?"

"I don't remember exactly. Since 1985 or 6. I was one of the first recruited, but one of the last actually fused."

"But that means the woman you're possessing—"

"Was about five years old when we took her." It grinned wickedly. "Yeah. And you know what? She wasn't the youngest. A friend of mine got a two year old. Oh, the nightmares he gave the kid. The screams . . . you can't even imagine."

Sam advanced towards the hybrid, furious. He was blind to the fact he was about to scuff a hole in the Devil's trap, when Dean called to him.

"Sam!" Sam halted, looking down. Carefully he set his foot on the ground, avoiding the line of the trap. Dean walked up next to him. "Whatever it's telling you, you can't let it get to you."

Sam nodded. "So what did you find out?"

"Bobby's never heard of anything like this. He said he'd do some research and get back to me. He said if push came to shove we could probably combine a couple of rituals and exorcisms to get rid of the thing."

Sam relayed everything he'd learned from the hybrid while Dean was on the phone. Then they returned to interrogating it, but the thing was smart. It didn't give them anything solid, just general statements and information, and nothing more detailed than what they had already learned.

Three hours later, Bobby called. Sam had just returned with lunch for himself and Dean when Dean's phone rang. He answered, then put it on speaker.

"All right Bobby, what did you find?" he asked.

Bobby's voice crackled through the phone. "Well, I think I found something that would work. If we do it right, we can combine a basic exorcism with this cleansing ritual I found, and that should do it."

"What does the ritual take?" Sam asked.

"That's the problem. Half this stuff I don't have, and if I don't have it there's no way you two do."

"Well what are you gonna do about it?" Dean sounded annoyed. "We can't just baby-sit this bitch. Plus, there's going to be people coming through here any day now to look at all the stuff going up for auction."

"Would you shut up? I know that, idjit. I already picked up most of the ingredients. I just have a couple more to get. And I won't drive, I'll fly."

"Fly? Like in a plane?"

"No, on a Pegasus. Of course on a plane, ya moron. I'll pack the ingredients and be there in just a few hours instead of almost an entire day."

"Alright Bobby. Just hurry." Dean clearly didn't want to be in the warehouse any longer than necessary.

"I'll let you know when I land. I'll just rent a car and drive."

"Sounds good, Bobby. See you soon." Sam said. Dean snapped his phone shut.

"Well, I guess you're stuck with us for another day or so." Dean said to the hybrid. It sighed.

"Goody." The thing rolled its eyes.

Sam jumped. He knew something was watching them, but he didn't know what. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two figures . . . but it couldn't be who he thought it was. They were far away. Dean slept a few feet away, oblivious to the panic racing through his brother's mind.

_But what if it is them?_ He asked himself. _But it can't be_ another part of himself argued.

"Can't sleep?" the hybrid piped up. It was sitting cross-legged once more, eyeing the brothers carefully.

"No." Sam replied. "Plus, I drew first watch." He glanced at his digital watch on his wrist. The glowing green numbers told him it was 10:42. He was supposed to wake Dean up at eleven, but he might just let him sleep.

"Something bothering you, Sam?" The thing feigned genuine concern. "Whatever it is, you can tell little ol' me."

"It's nothing." Sam shook his head. When he looked back up at the hybrid, he saw something behind her. He gasped, hand going to the gun at his side. The hybrid's eyes followed Sam's gaze. It stared at the shadows behind it for a moment.

"Oh, Sam." It whispered, realizing what was happening. It turned back, a sly smile playing at its lips. "Really? Already you're bleeding hallucinations into reality?"

"How do you know about my," Sam paused, unsure what to call it. "Condition?"

"Every denizen of Hell knows about your condition. Your body escaped the Pit, then came your soul. And finally, your memories. You poor, pathetic thing."

Sam looked confused.

"I know what you're seeing. That flicker in the corner of your eye. The shadows that never seem to stay still."

A fully formed figure stepped from the shadows behind the hybrid. "Hello, Sam." It said.

Sam stood, rooted to the spot. He never thought he'd see that face again. Lucifer, his tormentor for so many years in the Pit, was standing there, in the middle of the warehouse.

"Oh he's not alone." Michael, in the guise of Adam, stepped from the shadows opposite Lucifer.

"You're gone." Sam stammered out. "Both of you. You're in the Pit."

"You didn't think you'd get out of there without pieces of us, did you?" Lucifer asked, stepping forwards.

"We're in your mind." Michael chimed in. "We're not really here, but we might as well be."

"No!" Sam said forcefully.

"What do you see?" the hybrid murmured, looking keenly in the direction Sam was staring. "Are they there?"

Sam's soft whimper was answer enough. He could see Lucifer and Michael's faces looming over him. He was back in the Pit, and in their boredom and anger they were turning to him for entertainment. Lucifer he could handle, but then Michael joined in. As contradictory as it seemed, Lucifer wasn't nearly as bad as Michael.

"It's not real, Sam." The hybrid told him. "You know it's not. They're not here. You are. But they're not."

Its calm voice pulled Sam back to the present. The figures dissipated, returning to simple shadows. Sam gasped, his heart pounding.

"Why?" he managed to gasp out. "Why would you help me like that?"

"If I didn't, and your brother woke up to you lying unconscious on the ground, he'd kill me without a second thought. Don't make the mistake of thinking I did it for you. I did it to save my own skin."

"We're still going to exorcise you." Sam pointed out.

"I know. But at least then I have the chance to crawl my way back out of Hell."

They fell silent, each turning to its own thoughts.

Bobby arrived around 2AM. Sam and Dean had set up some electric lanterns around the area, casting eerie shadows on the shelves. He walked in, a cardboard box in his arms.

"One of you want to come help me unload the rest of it?" he asked. He looked tired.

"I'll come." Sam volunteered.

Dean stood, staring at the hybrid.

"What?" it asked.

"I just can't wait to kick your ass straight back to Hell." He smiled.

"Can't wait for you to try." It smiled back.

A bright light appeared between the two. Dean shielded his eyes from the glare. When it subsided, he looked towards the hybrid. A figure stood between them, one he never thought he'd see again.

Gabriel was looking far more chipper than he should.

"Sorry, Dean." The angel said, turning to the hybrid. Before Dean could stop him, he walked into the Devil's trap, placing his hand on the hybrid's forehead. It resisted, but Gabriel grabbed it, forcing it to be still.

Another great light pulsed around them, beginning in Gabriel's hand. Slowly it spread into the hybrid's body. As it flowed into her, a reddish-black liquid began to ooze from her pores. Her mouth open in a silent scream, the ooze began to pool at her feet. Where it hit the edges of the trap, it burned away. Finally, her entire body was emanating light. The glow strengthened, forcing Dean to turn away. As he did, he noticed Sam and Bobby turning the corner. They dropped what they were carrying, shielding their eyes.

When this light faded, Dean turned back. The hybrid was crumpled on the floor, Gabriel kneeling next to her.

Sam and Bobby walked up, looking just as confused as Dean.

The hybrid stirred. Gabriel helped her to her feet. The minute they saw her face, they knew the demon was gone. What stood before them was nothing but a confused woman. Her perplexed gaze landed on Dean, then went to Sam. Finally, her eyes landed on Bobby.

For a moment she simply stared, but then she said, "Daddy?"


	3. A Rooted Sorrow

All Bobby could do was stare. The girl in front of him was pretty – not gorgeous, but there was something pleasant about her. Her large green eyes dominated her face. Beneath those eyes she had a small nose, and the kind of mouth that hadn't smiled in a long time. Her mousy brown hair hung down to the middle of her back. She reminded him, in a very roundabout way, of Karen. She had the same frame, but she was all muscle, whereas Karen had been pleasantly plump from years of cooking the best food in the county. The only difference was he had woken up next to Karen every morning for countless days, and he had never seen this girl before in his life.

Sam and Dean looked at Bobby. He was just as confused as they were.

"Look, sweetheart, you must be confused. I'm not your father. You've been possessed—"

"By a demon, I know. That's been my life for the past twenty-six years. But for the first four years, I was your daughter." She insisted.

"I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before in my life." Bobby maintained.

The girl broke away from Gabriel. She walked up to Bobby, "Yes you have. My name is Maeve Angelina Singer, daughter of Bobby and Karen Singer. I was born on March 14th, 1981."

"That's impossible!" Bobby reiterated.

"Karen named me after her favorite author." She raised her voice, talking over Bobby. "You always hated it, so you called me Mae. I was taken by the demons on November 2nd, 1985."

"He's not going to remember you." Gabriel spoke up.

Mae turned back to him. "How do you know?" There was an unsettling desperation in her voice.

"He's under some sort of memory altering spell." Gabriel's voice was calm, reassuring. For some reason he was trying to be gentle with the girl.

"You're an angel, if his memory's broken, fix it!" Dean said.

"It's not that simple." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "If I could just fix it I already would have."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I really don't know this girl. For all I know she could be some demon sent here to trick us." Bobby said.

A misty wetness welled in Mae's eyes. "You remember nothing? Not one thing?"

Bobby shook his head. "Like I said, I've never seen you before in my life."

She turned to Gabriel. Hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks. "Why did you exorcise me?" She spat at him.

"Well I thought you'd be thankful." Gabriel replied, clearly surprised by this response.

"Thankful? Thankful for what? That you returned me to a world that remembers me for nothing other than the people I killed? The children I tortured? The monstrosities I helped create? Yeah, I guess I should be thankful." The flow of tears dwindled. She bit her lip, trying to keep them from returning.

Bobby felt a wave of compassion for the girl. He still didn't believe she was his daughter, but he knew no one should have to go through something like that. He took a couple steps forward and wrapped his arms around her. "It wasn't you who did those things." His voice was low and comforting. "It was that monster inside of you. You didn't do anything."

"That's the point. I should have done something. I should've—" A single tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, falling on Bobby's arm where the skin peeked out from the sleeve of his shirt.

Bobby pulled back. He looked at Mae, his brow crinkled. "Strawberry with caramel sauce." He said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Strawberry with caramel sauce. Your mom and I would take you out for ice cream every Sunday after church, and you always got strawberry ice cream with caramel sauce." He brushed a stray strand of hair out of Mae's eyes.

"That's right." Mae said, a slight smile appearing.

"Bobby, what are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"I . . . I'm not sure. I just, have this memory. I have no idea where it came from." Bobby looked at Gabriel. "Why is this happening?"

"Like I said, you're under a spell. I'm not sure which spell. If I knew which one I could help dispel it, but the only way to find that out is to find out more about Mae's disappearance."

Everyone stood in stunned silence. "Perhaps we should head back to Bobby's," Sam suggested. "Then we can figure this spell thing out. And Gabriel can explain just how he got back here."

"Good idea, sasquatch." Gabriel grinned, beginning to sound more and more like his old self.

"Well, you gonna zap us there or are we gonna have to walk?" Dean asked.

"Oh, right." Gabriel walked over and put a hand on the small of Mae's back. He put his other hand on Dean's shoulder, who then put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Bobby opened his eyes back in his living room. "Beer anyone?" He asked. Sam and Dean nodded. One look at Mae and he said, "I'll get you something a little stronger."

Gabriel helped Mae over to a chair. She was clearly overwhelmed by everything that was going on. Bobby came back with three beers and two tumblers. He handed the beers to Sam, Dean, and Gabriel, then poured two whiskeys. One he kept for himself, the other he handed to Mae.

Sam and Dean plopped down on the couch. Bobby sat in his chair. "You're going to need to grab a chair from the kitchen," he told Gabriel.

The angel gave Bobby a look as if to say, "You humans are so cute." An overstuffed armchair appeared next to Mae's. When he sat down, he sank into the seat.

"So, first things first. Last time we saw you, you were playing doornail in front of Lucifer." Dean said to Gabriel. "Was that some sort of trick?"

"Oh no, I was dead as they come. When Health released those souls from Castiel I was one of the ones who got out."

"You were in Purgatory?" Dean took a swig from his beer.

"Oh yeah. You didn't think it was only things that go bump in the night that go to Purgatory?" Gabriel's tone was playful despite the serious matters at hand.

"If you ask me, angels bump loudest." Bobby drained his whiskey and poured himself another. Mae hadn't touched hers.

An awkward silence descended. No one would say it, but everyone who had dealt with angels was silently agreeing with Bobby.

"So, what happened to you?" Dean directed his question toward Mae.

"Dean," Sam hissed at him. He knew Mae was having problems adjusting to no longer being possessed; he had gone through similar emotions dealing with Lucifer's possession of him. He looked kindly at Mae. "Just take your time. I know it's hard to talk about this kind of thing."

Mae sipped from her tumbler. "I was four when they took me. It was late at night, you and mom were asleep." She looked at Bobby sorrowfully. "I don't blame you." She told him. "It couldn't be helped. Once you were chosen for the experiments, they just took you." She took another sip. "One of the leaders took me. Moloch is his name. He's the only one of the three still alive. After he possessed me, Moloch walked me outside. Azazel was waiting outside the house. He cast some sort of spell, and then we left. They took me to some sort of laboratory. There were children all over, some even younger then me. Some of them had black eyes. At first I didn't know what that meant, but after a few days I realized it meant they were possessed. They put me in a room full of cages. There was a child in every one of them. When they wanted to work on a child, a demon would possess them in order to control them.

"It was . . . terrifying, the first time one came for me. They didn't physically hurt me the first time; they just ran a bunch of tests. But the demon . . . he wouldn't stop. All my memories, all the emotions – everything. He changed them. He would show me a memory, and twist it into something dark, something evil. For a few years I lived a cycle – possession, freedom, possession, freedom. There was no end in sight. And then they decided I was one of the subjects they wanted to permanently alter. Once they decided that I was possessed. That demon was with me through everything – until you exorcised him." She looked at Gabriel. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's not your fault. None of it is." She finished off her whiskey and held the glass out for Bobby to pour her more.

"How did they do it?" Sam asked. "Create the hybrids, I mean."

"No." she shook her head violently. "That I won't tell you. It was brutal. It was painful. And I will never tell a soul"

"It's okay." Gabriel rested his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Tell me more about that spell Azazel used. The more detail the better, if we're going to lift the spell off your father."

Deep lines furrowed Mae's brow. "It was a long time ago," she admitted, "And I was so scared." Gabriel smiled encouragingly at her. "There were . . . candles. And herbs and flowers. And he said some words – I think they were Latin?"

"Is there anything else? Anything at all. Did he make any movements? Did they take anything from you or from the house for it?"

Mae closed her eyes, focusing her mind on that night some twenty-six years ago. "They — they took my doll."

"Doll?" Gabriel asked.

"Yes. It was my favorite toy. And the air – it smelled like . . . rosemary."

"Good." Gabriel told her. "Focus on the rosemary scent. Were there any other smells? Any specific colors?"

"There were bells."

"Bells?"

"They might have been horns . . . they were pink. There was another pink flower. And there were purple ones; some with points like stars while others were more round. And there were bright reds. They might have been leaves – no, they were petals too. There were some rounded green leaves." She looked up. "That's all I can remember."

Gabriel got out of his chair. He walked over to Bobby's bookshelf and began staring intently at the titles along the spines of the books. Finally he took one of the shelves. He walked back to his seat as he flipped through the pages. He found what he was looking for, and offered it to Mae. "Is this what the other pink flower looked like?"

There was a glossy photograph of a pink flower sticking out of the water. It was surrounded by lily pads. "I think so." Mae nodded.

"Lotus flower, for those who are forgetful of the past." He flipped through the book again. "Are these the leaves you saw?" Mae nodded again. "Moonwort, for forgetfulness."

Recognition dawned on Bobby's face. "And the red ones are poppies, and the bells are angel's trumpets."

"Oblivion and separation." Gabriel nodded solemnly.

"But what were the purple ones?" Bobby's nose crinkled in thought.

"The ones with points were probably lilac. The others were probably periwinkle."

"Memory and early recollections." Bobby's mouth set itself in a grimace.

"What does all this mean?" Mae looked confused.

"It means you weren't just wiped from your parents' memories – you were wiped off the face of the planet." Gabriel's eyes were full of sorrow. "No one remembers you, because to them you never existed. This kind of spell is usually used by someone who needs to go into hiding. They cast it, they are forgotten, and their family goes on with their lives."

"Well then how are we supposed to undo it?" Dean had finished his beer and was beginning to get restless.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at the hunter and turned to Bobby. "When you remembered that bit about the ice cream, what exactly happened?"

"It just sort of flashed in front of me. It was like when you're looking for a word, and you know you know it, but you can't think of it, and then it finally comes to you." Bobby tried to explain.

Gabriel nodded slowly. "Like a game you used to play as a child that you had forgotten about until now."

"Exactly." Bobby was clearly relieved someone understood him.

"What led up to the memory resurfacing? Did you do anything, smell anything?"

"What's with this obsession with smell?" Sam had finished his beer too.

"Smell is intricately tied to memory." Gabriel was curt with Sam. There was something more at work here than a simple desire to help the Winchesters.

"No, nothing like that." Bobby shrugged. "She was crying on me one minute, and the next I was having this weird memory flash."

"Crying?" The archangel perked up. "Did any of the tears land on you?"

"Probably." Bobby said, "I wasn't really paying attention to that."

A familiar, jovial light flickered in Gabriel's eyes. "I think I know how to fix it." He grinned. Gabriel was taking a moment to gloat.

"Well?" Sam asked.

"I'll need to get some ingredients, and you my dear," he turned on Mae, "Are going to cry."

"What?" She asked

"Your tears are key to the removal of this spell. Remember how I said it is usually used by people who are going into hiding?"

"Yeah."  
>"Well once they come out of hiding, they have to have some way to remove the spell. Using your own tears guarantees you are the one to lift the spell, not whoever's after you."<p>

"Oh."

"I think if we want to localize the affect we're going to need Bobby's tears too." Gabriel looked at Bobby. The giant of a man was sitting there stone-faced.

"Localize it?" Dean asked.

"Of course. It'd be kind of awkward if all of Bobby's friends and neighbors suddenly remembered he had a daughter who had disappeared for twenty-six years."

"Well, let's get going." Bobby barked. "You get what you need, then we'll start the waterworks."

"Meet you back here in five." Gabriel vanished with a smirk on his face.

Five minutes slowly ticked by. Silence reigned, broken by Dean getting himself another beer. Bobby went through the drawers on his desk and withdrew two small glass vials. One he handed to Mae, the other he kept for himself.

Dean jumped as Gabriel appeared mere inches from him.

"Goddammit don't do that!" he said.

Gabriel's cocksure smirk returned. "Sorry bud." He didn't move. Dean nearly tripped over a pile of books in his haste to create space between himself and the angel. "Missed you too, sweetie pie," Gabriel's grin widened.

Dean was about to start yelling when Mae stood, cutting him off. Deliberately she walked out of the room. Bobby followed her.

"There's a bathroom upstairs you can use." He said to her back.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Thanks. Where are you going to go?"

"I'll just use my bedroom."

"I wonder what happened to my bedroom." Mae began climbing the stairs, Bobby right behind her. He resisted the urge to tell her she didn't have a bedroom.

"I don't know." He simply said. She nodded absent-mindedly. He pointed at a door on their left. "That's the bathroom."

"I know." Mae veered away from him towards the door. "I'll see you in a bit." She mumbled. He nodded tersely.

Mae paused before shutting the door, watching her father enter the door at the end of the hall. She had missed home. And she had returned to find it wasn't home anymore.

Sam had just gotten himself and Dean another round of beers when Mae returned. Her eyes were red and puffy, but the vial she carried was half full of clear liquid. She handed it to Gabriel, then went and to get herself a beer.

Moments later Bobby followed. When Mae came back in the room she had two beers – she handed the second to Bobby.

"Thanks." He said. Neither mentioned the other's obvious signs of crying.

"Well, I think we have everything." Gabriel said. "Shall we?"

"Why not." Bobby shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant.

Gabriel drew a large pentagram on the floor. He sat them all at one of the points, with himself at the highest. In front of himself he set out a bowl. One by one he dropped dried flowers and herbs into the bowl, then poured the contents of the two vials on the concoction. He began speaking strange words. Dean recognized the words as Latin, but that was all. Sam and Bobby occasionally understood a word or two, but they didn't understand the majority of the spell. Mae didn't understand any of it, but she recognized portions of it – they were the same sounds as the spell Azazel had cast the night she was taken.

When Gabriel reached the end of the spell, it appeared nothing had happened. Dean and Sam stared at each other across the pentagram, unsure of what to do.

Bobby let out a wracking sob. He lunged towards Mae, wrapping his arms around her. "Oh god, Mae. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He managed to eek out through the tears.

She returned his hug, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. "It's alright, Dad. It's ok. I'm here now. Everything's going to be fine."

"I let those horrible monsters have you. And I never knew. I never knew. Oh god I should have known. I should have remembered you. It's all my fault. All my fault."

"Shh." Mae whispered. "It's not your fault."

"And then after your mom – Oh god, you don't know about your mom!" Bobby moved his head so he could look at her.

"Yes, I do." Mae admitted.

"But how?" Bobby asked.

"Demons talk. The one that was my main possessor heard, and he . . . he told me."

"I'm so sorry. My Mae. My little Mae. Oh god how could this have happened." Bobby dissolved into tears once more.

Mae hugged him as he cried himself out. Sam and Dean and Gabriel sat in silence, watching the scene unfold. Each of them felt for Bobby and Mae in their own way. As sons, they knew the pain of being separated from their father.

Bobby wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm a blubbering mess. It's just – When Gabriel cast that spell, it was like the last twenty-six years' worth of sorrow came crashing down on me."

"I know." Mae said. "It hurts. But there's no need for you to keep apologizing. None of this is your fault. And if you keep blaming yourself, all that's going to happen is you are going to feel worse and worse. It's in the past. Let it go."

Bobby nodded. "I need a beer."

Mae smiled, "Sounds like a good idea."

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and five beers appeared in the center of the pentagram. They each grabbed one.

"What's that?" Bobby saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was an old, dusty, leather-bound book sitting on the bottom shelf of his bookcase. Bobby stood and walked over to it, the other four following him. "I can't believe I never noticed this." Bobby bent to pick up the battered old tome. When he blew the dust off, the boys could make out _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ in gold lettering. "In all my years pacing the floors in front of the bookcase, I never looked twice at this. I saw some old, worthless book." He looked up at Mae, tears brimming in his eyes. "The truth is it was the most important book in this house,"

Mae reached out and took the book from him. She gently flipped through the yellowed pages, stopping to read passages here and there. "You changed the endings for me." She smiled sadly at Bobby. "You made them happy. Gave me the Disney version." All vestiges of a smile slipped from her face. "The happy endings were the first things to go."

Sam peered into her face, puzzled.

"After they took me, the demons liked to . . . play with me. One of the first things they did to break me was corrupt all the happy endings – the fairytales, the memories – all gone." Mae explained.

"That must've been awful." Sam rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah. Well, you get used to those kinds of things." Mae walked over to the stairs, climbing them delicately. The others followed her.

A new door had appeared in the hallway. When he thought about it, Dean realized he had seen the door a thousand times, but he had never noticed it. He knew what would be behind it before Mae even touched the doorknob.

The old hinges screeched as the door swung inwards. Beyond was a room coated in twenty-six years of dust and cobwebs. Silently they all walked into the room, their footsteps kicking up puffs of dust from the thick carpet. The motes swirled in the dirty light streaming through the window centered on the far wall, and beneath it, a small bed. There was an indent in the center of the bed where a tiny body had once curled up against the intense cold of the north. Toys and books and clothes were strewn about where their owner had left them.

Mae bent and picked up a dusty old bunny at her feet. She shook the dust off of it as she walked over to the bed, setting it gently on the pillow.

"We're going to need to get you a bigger bed." Bobby said.

Mae started to laugh. It was one of those laughs that begins in your toes and stretches through you, rising up until it bursts forth from your lips. It was beautiful, and so very bittersweet. Bobby knew his daughter hadn't laughed like that since the night before she had vanished. The voices he did when he told her _The King, the Mice, and the Cheese_ always made her laugh.

"We can go into town and pick one up tomorrow morning." Dean suggested. "You can have the couch tonight, I'll go sleep in the car."

"Really?" Gabriel asked. "Did you already forget who's back?"

Dean stared blankly.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny!" Gabriel snapped his fingers. The room changed before their very eyes. The toy chests and pink clothes vanished. The bed expanded, growing four posts and hangings. A large wardrobe appeared where the bookshelf had been, it's doors open and clothes spilling out. In the far corner a new bookcase appeared. Classic novel and books of poetry lined the shelves next to books on the occult and Latin.

The humans' eyes widened. Mae walked to the foot of the bed and cautiously sat down. "This is – fantastic. Thank you." She smiled at Gabriel.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Gabriel smiled back.

Bobby cleared his throat. "So what did you do with her old toys and books?"

"They're downstairs in the cupboard. I put them in labeled boxes so you can go through them and keep the ones you want and donate the rest." He never took his eyes off Mae.

"What's going on here?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?" Gabriel feigned innocence.

"You know exactly what I mean." Sam replied. "It makes no sense for you to appear out of nowhere and exorcise Mae. The three of us are marked by Death so there's no way we drew you to that warehouse. It had to have been Mae. But why her? From what she's said she was one of hundreds of hybrids. So I ask again – why her?"

Gabriel sighed. "It's . . . complicated." He paused. "Which reminds me . . ." He walked over to Mae and placed his hand on the crown of her head. Mae flinched. "There. You've got Enochian sigils on your skeleton. I should be the only one able to find you."

"Okay." Sam growled. "One, you're avoiding the question. Two, why didn't that hurt her?"

"Archangel. Duh." Gabriel said, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"We're waiting." Bobby's throaty growl echoed Sam's.

Mae looked on, clearly puzzled. She wasn't sure, but it seems the Winchesters and her father had a – shall we say colorful – history with Gabriel.

"It's really, really complicated." Gabriel reiterated. "I mean if I hadn't watched it happen, I wouldn't believe it either."

"If you hadn't watched what happen?" Mae asked.

"If I hadn't watched you be created." Stunned silence descended upon the room.

Mae's temper was mercurial. "You watched me be turned into a hybrid and you did _nothing_?"

"No, no, no, no, no. I watched you being created in Heaven," Gabriel clarified.

Bobby finally spoke, "But you've been away from Heaven for centuries. How could you have seen my thirty-year-old daughter being created?"

"Millennia, actually. And because she's not thirty years old. Your daughter has been here since days after God created humans."

"What?" Mae was shocked. "I think I would have remembered millennia of existence."

"No you wouldn't. It wasn't _you_ that was created, per se. It was your soul."

"My soul?" Mae asked incredulously.

"Yeah. You know, shiny white thing that makes you distinctly human."

"So I –"

"Have one of the oldest souls in the universe? Yes."

"Wait, one of?" injected Dean.

Gabriel sighed. "One of. There were four souls created – one for each of the archangels. When God first created you little monkeys, he could tell there were some . . . tensions between you and angels. Daddy hoped by attaching human souls to the archangels we would learn from them. Begin to appreciate you humans. Michael has his soul, Raphy has his, Luci had his, and I have mine – you." He looked sheepishly at Mae.

"So you two are like, what, soul mates?" Dean asked.

"No. Not technically. At least, not as you define it. The souls were created to teach us about humans, and in turn we would teach them about angels. I guess you could call us learning buddies." Gabriel shrugged. "You can't call us soul mates because your definition of soul mates has been corrupted. You see soul mates as people who are destined to fall in love. As the original soul mates, we were meant to be inseparable, the best of friends. But our love would never be taken to a physical level. It would be pure." Gabriel laughed at the faces everyone was making. "I told you it was complicated."

Mae's brow furrowed. "If I'm an old soul, why am I here? Shouldn't I have died and gone to Heaven?"

"That's another thing unique to the souls – they are the only four souls in all creation that can elect to be reincarnated. From what I gathered during my time here on earth, after I ran off you asked to be continually reincarnated. You wouldn't remember your time spent in Heaven because no human that dies and comes back does, unless Dad wants them to." A candy bar appeared in Gabriel's hand. He unwrapped it noisily, and took a large bite. "Sorry," he said around the chocolate, "I'm hungry."

"You said there was one soul created for each archangel – is there any way we could use Raphael's soul to get to him?" Sam asked.

"If it's here on earth, yes. But it's probably in Heaven. Let's face it, if you had a choice, you'd be up there too." He took another large bite.

"What about Lucifer's and Michael's? Could we use one of them?" Sam pressed.

He finished off the candy bar. "No and no. Michael's is still in Heaven, and you already killed Lucifer's."

"Wait. What?" Dean asked

"Lilith. The first demon. You killed her. She was Luci's soul, and she was the first soul he corrupted. That made his betrayal even worse – not only did he fight his Father and brothers, but he corrupted the greatest gift his Father ever gave him."

"So does that mean Lilith can be reincarnated?" Bobby sounded concerned.

"Nope. She's gone, baby, gone."

"That's a relief." Mae murmured.

Bobby turned on her. "You knew Lilith?"

"Everyone did." Silence descended once more. Finally, Mae spoke, "Look, I don't know about you guys, but I've had a bit of a day. I think we should all turn in for the night. We can figure out what to do about all this tomorrow."

Sam yawned. "Sounds good to me."

Sam, Dean, and Gabriel filed out. Bobby stayed, staring at his daughter.

"What?" Mae asked gently.

"After your mother died, I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life."

Mae rose from the edge of the bed, wrapping her father in a hug. "Never."

Bobby untangled himself from her arms. "It's good to have you back," he said, shutting the door behind him.


	4. All the Devils Are Here

"Hello again, Sam. Nice to see you're up again." Lucifer's face leered out of the smoke at him. "Looks like Michael and I get to have some fun with you. Good. Adam needs a rest." Michael appeared from behind his brother and threw a bulky sack at Sam's feet.

Michael smiled viciously. "Happy birthday, Sam."

Sam shifted his feet, untangling them from the bag. When he did, severed body parts began to roll out. Adam's head came to rest right in front of him.

Adam's eyes opened. "Oh god, Sam, it hurts. Please, make them stop!" It begged.

Michael kicked it. "Don't use my Father's name. He has no presence here." He spat. Lucifer chuckled with glee.

Adam's eyes looked accusatorily at Sam. "It's all your fault. If you and Dean had just said yes I could have stayed in Heaven. I would be with my mom. I would be at peace. It's all your fault, Sam."

"No." Sam shook his head violently.

"Oh yes, Sam." Lucifer told him. The angel was playing with a sharp, white-hot knife, cutting into his palm and forearm with the blade. "You know what I've realized?" He asked.

Sam stood silent.

"Sam, you must not forget your manners. When I ask you a question, you answer me. Now, I asked, you know what I've realized?" He stepped closer to Sam.

Sam shook his head slightly.

"I've realized I've lost all ability to feel. But you haven't."

Lucifer took the knife and slashed at Sam. Sam screamed as the blade cut through layers of skin and flesh, exposing his stomach and intestines. The wound sizzled. All Sam could do was scream as Michael joined Lucifer in the vicious attacks, while Adam intoned in the background, just barely audible above his screams, "It's all your fault."

Sam sat straight up, the end of a screaming lingering on his lips. He gasped for air, looking around. He was at Bobby's, sleeping on the couch. The past few days came crashing down on him.

"You okay there, Sam?" Dean was sitting in a chair next to the sofa. His face was expressionless.

"Uh, yeah. Just had a bad dream."

"The usual?" Dean's voice was steady, flat. He knew the answer.

"Yeah." Sam lied.

Dean sighed. "You really shouldn't lie to me, Sam."

"He's right, you know." Michael stepped out of a darkened corner.

"Lying to your brother is just rude." Lucifer emerged opposite Michael.

Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them the hallucinations were gone.

"Sam?" Dean asked, concern piercing his mask.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine. It was just a bad dream."

"About the cage." Dean wasn't asking.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, about the cage. Can you blame me?"

"No. Just don't lie to me. I'll know if you are lying to me." He paused. "What was it about?"

"The cage."

Dean understood what he meant. Hell was no picnic, and the cage was probably worse. "Was Adam there?"

"He always is."

"Sorry." Dean said. "But it's all staying behind your eyelids, right?"

"Of course." Sam insisted.

Dean nodded. He was skeptical, but he let his brother get away without any more questions. "Good."

Sam nodded. "What time is it?"

"Five A.M."

"I'll go make us some breakfast."

"Good idea. Bobby'll be up soon. After the waterworks yesterday he's gonna be a hungry, hungry hippo." Dean smirked at his own joke.

"More like I could eat one of those hippos." Bobby came down the stairs.

"Told ya." Dean said.

"What's all the ruckus?" Mae was standing at the top of the stairs. When Bobby saw her, he lit up. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a loose-fitting shirt. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I was just gonna make us some breakfast." Sam smiled weakly at her. Despite all his problems, he felt bad for Mae. He knew she was going to have a hard time readjusting. And what she went through – he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

She smiled back. "Sounds delicious. Demons aren't exactly known for making sure we get fed on a regular basis."

Gabriel appeared at the base of the stairs, chewing on a candy bar. "Lovely to see you up and about. And less black-eyed."

"Lovely to be up and about. And less black-eyed." Mae traipsed down the stairs. Gabriel offered her his hand, which was covered in chocolate. "How many of those do you eat?" She was slightly repulsed.

"What? This is only my fifth!"

Mae shook her head and followed Sam into the kitchen to help him cook. Soon the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes came wafting from the other room.

Bobby went to take a shower while Dean decided to change into some cleaner clothes. Fifteen minutes later they were all gathered around the rickety old table. They had hauled chairs from the living room in, and people sat with their plates perched on their knees. It was all very warm and homey.

"Here." Bobby handed Mae the jar of peanut butter.

She giggled. "You remembered." She unscrewed the lid and began spreading the chunky peanut butter over her pancakes.

"Ew." Dean said.

Mae rolled her eyes and started to pour syrup over the stack. "It's quite good." She told him.

"Yeah no thanks, sweetheart." Dean waved his hand at her dismissively.

She glared at him. "Don't call me sweetheart."

"Okay then, honey bunches of oats." Dean tried.

"Look," Mae said diplomatically, "How about we finish breakfast before I'm forced to seriously hurt you."

"Bring it on, cupcake."

Mae chose to ignore him. Instead, she looked at Bobby. "I'm going to need to disguise myself." She told him.

"What do you mean?" he asked around his mouthful of eggs.

"If a demon sees me and recognizes me, I'm screwed. They'll come after me and repossess me. I'd rather not run that risk. I was thinking I could cut my hair and dye it. It wouldn't be the best disguise ever, but it would be better than running around looking exactly like I did when I was possessed."

"Yeah you're right. We do tend to run into a lot of demons in our line of work."

"You'd make a good redhead." Gabriel told her. He had smothered his entire plate in syrup. Even his eggs were swimming in it.

She shrugged. "I'm not that particular. Just as long as it's different."

They sat in silence, eating their breakfast.

"I noticed something last night." Bobby said as he carried his empty plate to the sink.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"Mae's been appearing in some of the photos around the house. The one on my nightstand used to just be a picture of me, but a little Mae was on my shoulders when I went to bed last night."

Sam smiled. "It's good to see you happy again, Bobby. I'm glad you have some family now."

Bobby looked over at Sam. "I've had a family ever since you boys showed up on my doorstep. Don't you ever forget that, boy." He glanced over his shoulder at Mae. "But it is nice to still have a little bit of Karen in my life, even though she's gone." He looked back at Sam. "She looks just like Karen when she smiles."

"I know, Bobby." Sam patted him on his shoulder. "I know."

Sam and Bobby returned to the figures huddled around the table.

"Now what?" Gabriel asked.

"Well I'd assume you need to stop Castiel." Mae replied.

Dean looked perplexed. "How do you know about Cas?"

"The demon knew, so I know."

"Makes sense." Bobby nodded. "Did you boys find anything about the book at the warehouse?"

"If it was there it was under some sort of invisibility spell." Dean shrugged. "What about you?" he asked Mae.

She shook her head. "The demon was there out of idle curiosity, he wasn't looking for anything."

"What book are we talking about?" Gabriel asked.

Sam sighed, "It's supposed to help us get the souls out of Cas. But now we have nothing to go on: no leads, no clues, not even a suggestion. I guess that's it."

Gabriel's brows knit together. "Tell me more about it."

Bobby took over. "It's a book of exorcisms written in ancient Sumerian. Apparently it contains some of the most powerful spells ever written."

"If it's a Sumerian spell book it certainly would."

"How's that?"

"Well, even Latin is a corruption of other languages. Sumerian is one of the oldest languages ever spoken. The words haven't gone through so many translations as to have lost their power, so even now they retain that power." Gabriel made another candy bar appear and bit into it.

Sam and Bobby nodded; Mae and Dean sat blankly.

"Language is powerful," Gabriel expanded, "And Enochian is the purest language, therefore it is the most powerful. Sumerian was one of the original languages directly descended from Enochian, so it still retains much of that power. If you were to try the same spell in, let's say Enochian, Sumerian, Latin, and English, the spell effect from the Enochian would be the most powerful, followed by the Sumerian. The Latin spell would only work on minor demons, and the English? Well, you'd be lucky if the English spell gave the damn thing a mild case of the hiccoughs."

"I knew that." Dean said, looking over at Mae. She rolled her eyes in disgust.

Sam guffawed. His brother was always trying to impress people.

"Stop screwing around." Mae scolded him. She looked back at Gabriel. "Continue. Please." A soft pink rose in her cheeks when she forgot her manners.

"This book sounds like something Raphael would know about. He always had a passing interest in human spells."

Crowley appeared behind Bobby's chair. Mae's eyes grew wide and she gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.

"Please don't flatter yourself, darling," he looked at her. "I'm not here for you. I'm here about Moloch."

"Moloch?" Dean exclaimed.

"Yes, Moloch, you hairless orangutan." Crowley replied.

Gabriel moved to stand behind Mae as Crowley used his handkerchief to wipe blood off his face. "Say your piece and be off, Crowley."

"Gabriel! Good to see you up and about. We're going to need you."

"We?" Sam growled.

"Yes we." Crowley cocked his head to the side. "For a moose you've made a miraculous recovery." Crowley remarked.

"Why would we join with you?" Bobby asked.

Crowley patted Bobby's cheek. "Oh Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. I hate to tell you, but your soul-sucking accountant helped Moloch take Hell from me."

"You mean you're no longer King?" Dean interjected.

"Not any more. And believe me, it's not good to not be king. I barely escaped with my life."

"That doesn't sound like our problem." Dean's eyes flicked to the saltshaker on the table.

"Oh it is. Moloch's not nearly as nice as I am." He jerked his head towards Mae. "She can tell you."

Mae was still frozen in fear, but she managed to move her head up and down a centimeter to indicate her agreement.

"See." Crowley smirked. "Now, if you don't mind I could use a drink. And we could use a plan."

"A plan?" Dean asked.

"A plan. Unless of course you'd rather just barrel into the situation with absolutely no idea what you're doing. You know, what you usually do. Either way you don't want Moloch to be king for any longer than he has to be." Crowley walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of amber whiskey. "This'll be good." He poured himself a glass.

"So, what, we summon him and gank him?" Sam added.

"Sure. I can summon him, but you'll need to figure out the ganking part."

"Something tells me it's not going to be a matter of shooting him full of iron and salt rounds." Bobby grimaced.

"Of course not." Crowley scoffed. "Well," he sat his glass down on the table and rubbed his hands together, "Shall we?"

"Well I guess it's settled." Bobby said. "Sam, Dean, you two should take the Impala. I'll take Mae in my car."

"Who said I was coming?" Mae asked

"Of course you're coming." Dean replied. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"Maybe because I don't want to?"

"You don't want to? This is your chance to kill the son of a bitch who kidnapped you and made you suffer all those years, and you don't want to come?" Dean was shocked.

"No, I don't. I promised myself if I ever got out I'd go live somewhere in the woods, away from people, away from the monsters, away from the demons, away from everything. I'm not going to risk my neck for a plan that's probably going to backfire and wind up with me back where I started. Possessed." Mae grew angrier with each passing word. Her passion was palpable.

"Look princess, I'm sorry you got hurt, and I'm sorry that your life has sucked for so long, but you need to stop being a selfish little—"

"Dean." Bobby growled.

Dean fell silent, but he still glared angrily at Mae.

"I understand you don't want to do this." Bobby told her. "Honestly, I don't want you to do it either. I don't want to risk losing you again. But let's face it, other than Crowley you're the only one who's ever interacted with Moloch. We need you. After this is over, I promise you can leave. You can go find some solitary mountain and try to stay safe. But keep in mind, when the demons are after you, nowhere is truly safe."

Mae sighed.

"You're going to do it." Gabriel said.

"Of course I am." Mae spat. "But this is it. After we kill Moloch, I'm out." She looked pointedly at Dean.

"Fine." He spoke coldly. "Just don't get in my way. If your prissy-ass gets someone killed, I will kill you myself."

"Oh please." Mae stood. "My prissy-ass could kick your ass in two seconds flat."

Dean scoffed, moving to stand toe-to-toe with her. "Try it. I dare you. I'll have you on the ground before you can blink. Before your fist can even form," he bragged.

Mae glared at her feet, Dean smiling superiorly. Lightening fast, Mae's fist lashed out. She and Dean were a whirl of arms and legs for a moment, but then they froze. Dean was on top of Mae, holding her hands to her stomach. His knees were pressed on her thighs, completely pinning her down.

"Well," she spat at him, "One out of two isn't bad."

With the adrenaline ebbing out of him, Dean felt a dull ache and something warm oozing on his cheek.

"What the – am I bleeding? Sam, am I bleeding?" Dean blurted out.

Sam nodded, pointing at his right cheekbone, just beneath his eye, indicating where Dean was cut.

Dean let Mae go. She jumped right up, but he stood more slowly. He touched his fingers to the cut, and sure enough, they came away wet with blood.

"How the hell did she manage to do that?" he asked the room at large.

"_She_ is standing right here. And she has a name." her voice seeped with venom. Her face softened. "I think it's a side effect of the possession." The three men, angel, and demon looked confused. She expanded. "I was possessed for twenty-six years. During that time I didn't just sit around. Moloch and Azazel and Alastair, they wanted to use us as an elite group of soldiers once the Apocalypse started. So we trained. It may not have been me practicing hand-to-hand combat and swordplay, but it was my body. It got faster, stronger. After a while the memory gets ingrained in your muscle. It's been a while since the demon had to train – it mostly beat on old people and kids after it was released. So my body's gotten slower, and a little less strong, but I could still kick most people's ass." She smirked at the last line.

"Wait," said Sam. "Did you just say 'swordplay'?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Mae replied. "Neither side has advanced much in terms of weapons since the Middle Ages."

"It's true." Gabriel agreed. "We angels sure do like our phallic symbols."

Crowley chuckled. "Well if you two are quite finished, I believe we have a trap to set up. And Mae needs to get a haircut."

"Right. Anyone here willing to give it a try?" Mae looked unsure about the men around her. She was pretty certain none of them knew how to cut hair.

"I have a better idea," grinned Gabriel. He snapped his fingers, and a flamboyant man in a shockingly purple shirt appeared with a bag at his side.

The man walked over to Mae and looked her up and down. He grabbed her shoulder and forced her to turn, tittering as she did. "Oh darling, we have got some serious work to do. When was the last time you had a proper conditioning treatment?"

He started to lead her to the upstairs bathroom. Mae looked over her shoulder and mouthed, "Help me!" but none of the guys even moved.

Once they heard the sharp click of the bathroom door closing, they all burst out laughing.

"That was too great," Gabriel giggled.

Dean grinned wickedly. "Yeah. If more of your pranks were like that I think I'd like you."

"Just wait until you see the color." Gabriel kept laughing.

After an hour and a half, Mae and the man emerged from the bathroom. The guys, who had been preparing for the trap, halted.

"It's that bad, isn't it?" Mae groaned.

Dean fought to keep the smile off his face. "Well considering I'm not sure if I should get the fire extinguisher because your head's on fire or call an ambulance because you've been scalped, I'd say yeah, it's that bad."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the man disappeared. "Told you you'd make a good red head."

"Bite me," said Mae.

"Only if you insist," Gabriel replied.

Mae glared and went to go prepare for her part of the trap.

Shadows flickered demonically on the bare walls. The empty house echoed with silence. Bobby had remembered this place when they were looking for somewhere quiet to put an end to Moloch. It was a foreclosure, gutted by a bank that couldn't sell it in this economy.

Crowley stood at the center of a circle of candles, another circle lined with runes in front of him. Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Mae patrolled the house, wary of any trespassers. At two minutes to midnight they gathered around the summoning circle.

"All ready then?" Crowley asked the surrounding players. Each nodded in turn. "Remember, this circle will only hold Moloch for a little while. You're going to have to lay the Devil's trap quickly, since you lot are so set on interrogating him."

"And if we can't set it we're screwed blah blah blah blah blah. Just do it already." Dean said.

Sam stood at the ready, a piece of red chalk in his hand. Mae gripped the hilt of Ruby's knife tightly. She glanced at her father, but he only had eyes for the circle.

"Well then, let's begin." Crowley looked at the paper in his hand and began chanting. "Sint mihi dei Acherontis propitii! Valeat numen triplex Jehovoe! Ignei, aerii, aquatani spiritus, salvete! Orientis princeps Belzebub, inferni ardentis monarcha, et Demogorgon, propitiamus vos, ut appareat et surgat Moloch, quod tumeraris: per Jehovam, Gehennam, et consecratam aquam quam nunc spargo, signumque crucis quod nunc facio, et per vota nostra, ipse nunc surgat nobis dicatus Moloch!"

The candles fluttered out, leaving them in pitch-blackness.

Moments later, they candles relit. A man was standing in the center of the summoning circle, his eyes black and curious.

"Crowley," he hissed. "I didn't think you'd be summoning me."

"Well, I'm not alone."

Moloch's eyes darted around the room. When they landed on Mae, he grinned wickedly. "Oh I remember you." He whispered. "Your hair's changed, but I always remember our children. You were one of our first. But one of the strongest. And you will be again. I plan on reinstating the program, and trust me dearie, we will find you and bring you back to the fold."

"Not if we have anything to say about it." Sam stood. He had finished drawing the outer circle of the devil's trap, ensuring Moloch couldn't escape.

"Oh very good, monkey boy." Moloch taunted. "Draw the innards of the devil's trap so I can't see them, then finish it once I'm inside." Sam moved to stand next to Mae, a protective figure if there ever was one.

"Now let me get a good look at you." Moloch took in each of the figures in front of him. "A bit of a raggedy bunch, aren't you? A deposed king, a drunk, two idiot brothers, and a girl I've captured before. Worst of all, you overestimate yourselves. Or underestimate me."

"What do you mean?" Asked Bobby.

"I mean I'm the king. I never go anywhere without my bodyguards." Moloch snapped his fingers, and a troupe of fifteen demons appeared. One moved to strike. "Ah-ah-ah." Moloch scolded. "I don't believe I gave the order."

Dean raised his gun and fired at one of the demons. Before the bullet could strike, another figure appeared in its path. The shadow of wings flickered behind its shoulders. Another five figures appeared, one of them a familiar face.

"Shit." Dean said.

"Good to see you again, Winchester." Raphael smiled. "I'd appreciate you not shooting my devoted followers. It's just a waste of bullets, you know."

"So," Sam began to back up slowly, "How's this going to go down?"

"Simply." Replied Raphael. "I will finally remove the thorn in my side that you four have been for so long, and then I will kill the King of Hell." She looked oddly at Mae. "I don't know you child, but if you leave now, you will be spared."

Mae shook her head. "I think you just threatened to kill my dad. I'm not going anywhere you creepy bastard."

She looked even more confused. "I am the legitimate child of my Father. It is you humans," she turned to the demons, "And especially you abominations who are the bastards."

"I think I have a better idea." Moloch chimed.

Raphael turned to face him. "And what would that be, demon?"

"Your angels and my demons kill squash these flies, while you and I make a deal."

"I don't deal with eyesores like you."

"Oh you will, once you hear what I have to offer you."

Raphael shrugged. "I will hear you out. But I will not waste my angels on the humans unless it's absolutely necessary. And you stay in the trap."

Moloch nodded. "Fair enough." He turned to his minions. "Well, what are you waiting for? Kill them. But leave the girl for me."

Crowley vanished, leaving the humans to fend for themselves.

"Scatter!" Bobby shouted. The humans ran to opposite corners of the house. Mae took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, while Dean descended into the basement. Bobby and Sam remained in the main room, keeping their backs to each other.

The demons hesitated. Five broke off and followed Dean down the stairs. Six ran at Bobby and Sam, while the remaining four stalked carefully to the second floor.

Mae stood silently behind the door. She could hear the demons' footsteps in the rooms beyond. She guessed there were three, maybe four, looking for her. One stepped into the room she was hiding in. He was young. He reminded her of a football player – all muscle with broad shoulders and big hands – hands that could crush the life out of her.

She stepped out from behind the door, letting it swing partially shut. Thankfully it didn't squeal. She tiptoed up behind the demon, and latched herself onto his back. With one swift stroke she sliced his throat from ear to ear, deep enough to cut his vocal chords. Blood sprayed from the wound, coating her hands and sending tiny droplets flying into her face. She tried to keep his body from dropping to the floor, but she wasn't strong enough. He slipped down with a massive thud.

Another of the demons was coming, alerted by the sound. It swung the door open, and was greeted by a slash to the chest. This demon was smarter than the other. Right when it opened the door it jumped back, and Mae's cut only grazed its skin.

"Oh come on, sweetheart. You were one of us. You know how much fun it is. You know you want that power back." It hissed at Mae. While it was speaking, it moved towards Mae, closing the gap between them. Mae waved the knife at it. "Oh, looky there. You know what, I have one too." The demon brandished a butcher's knife at Mae. "Looks like you weren't the only one to bring a toy to the party."

It lunged at Mae. She parried the wild chop with relative ease, but it had thrown her off-balance. The demon pressed the advantage, but Mae righted herself and continued parrying the uncalculated blows. The slices slowed as the demon wearied. At this point, Mae was just toying with it.

Mae smiled wickedly. "I may not have been the only one to bring a toy, but at least I know how to use mine."

Panic rose in the demon's face. Out of the corner of her eye, Mae saw a third demon enter the room. She sent a vicious chop at the demon's face, cutting deep into the flesh as the third one moved to get behind her.

Mae grunted as she slid the knife into the demon's stomach. "We could use some cavalry here!" she shouted at thin air.

"Not so fast." She growled at the third demon, spinning on her.

She had a metal pipe in her hand, wielding it as a mace. The demon attacked fiercely, throwing a series of rapid blows at Mae. Mae was forced into a corner. The she-demon chuckled evilly. Before she could strike a killing blow, a blade burst through her chest, the metal painted scarlet. The grin slipped from her face as her body slipped from the sword.

Gabriel stood there, clutching his bloodied archangel blade. "Sorry about that. Apparently the cavalry wasn't as hidden as he thought he was."

Mae shoved him aside, plunging the knife into the shoulder of the demon that had snuck up behind Gabriel. "Now we're even." She grabbed him, dragging him back to the stairs and to the main room. "If that blade of yours is the only thing that can kill angels, we're going to need it."

Mae and Gabriel ran into the room. Bobby was relieved to see his daughter alive, but he had more pressing matters at hand. There was still one demon on him. It tried to back him into a corner, but he kept turning, leading the demon in a half-circle around the room. He ended up back where he and Sam had begun their fight. Before he could finish of the demon, Ruby's knife erupted from its chest.

"Thanks." He nodded absent-mindedly at Mae. "Sam, move!" he yelled.

Sam was standing a few yards away, fending off blows from a demon. At Bobby's shout, he disengaged, bent in half, and sprinted back towards the group. Bobby took a gun from his belt and shot the demon Sam had been fighting full of salt rounds. It screamed, black smoke pouring from its mouth as it fled.

Mae heard a flutter of wings, and looked to her right. Gabriel had disappeared. "Shit," she murmured, trying to keep her cool.

Dean came up from the basement just in time to see Bobby drop a match to the ground. Fire erupted, encircling the angels and the devil's trap. Bobby had Raphael and the other angels in a circle twelve feet in diameter, leaving plenty of room for the humans to maneuver. The archangel looked up in surprise.

"What is this?" she asked, turning to face the humans head-on. Sam and Dean raised their weapons.

"This is holy oil you ignorant bitch." Bobby grinned. He waved a pocket flask in her direction. "I never leave home without it."

"Clever." Raphael spoke softly, barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Gabriel appeared next to Bobby.

"Gabriel?" Raphael asked in amazement.

Gabriel smiled at the trapped angel. "Hey there, Raphy." He paused dramatically. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Raphael lunged out of the circle, grabbing at Mae. Quick as lightening, she had Mae in her arms, her archangel sword pointed at her throat.

"Dollar for your soul?" Raphael spat back.

Gabriel's eyes widened. He held his hands palm up in a gesture of submission. "Alright, Raphy, don't do anything rash. Boys," he looked at Dean and Sam, "Put your weapons down." The Winchesters set down their guns. "Now, let's talk about this."

"Look at her face." Mae said. Raphael's sword tightened against her throat. "Look at her face." Mae urged, the point of the blade drawing a dot of blood.

Gabriel stared hard at his brother. "Oh, Raphy." A look of deep sorrow came over Gabriel's face. "Not you too."

Sam and Dean looked at each other in confusion, but Bobby only had eyes for his daughter.

"Let her go." Bobby pleaded.

"Why would I let my one bargaining chip go?" Raphael's voice was full of condescension.

"Raphael, please, listen to the man. There's no need to hurt an innocent." Gabriel took a step towards his brother.

"She stopped being an innocent the moment she refused to leave. I gave her a chance. She dug her own grave."

Gabriel took another step, causing Raphael to clench the blade tighter. Mae let out small whimper as the sword tip cut deeper into her throat. "Take me instead." Gabriel offered, his eyes never leaving Mae's.

Raphael was clearly shocked. "You would sacrifice yourself for your soul? You do realize she can come back. You never can."

"Of course I would. Wouldn't you do the same if I had your soul by the throat?"

Raphael's grip on Mae loosened at the mention of her soul. Gabriel looked pointedly at Mae.

Mae shoved Raphael's arm away from her, ducking and somersaulting away from the angel. She lunged after Mae, but Gabriel met her sword with his own, a high-pitched hum filling the air when they met.

"Run!" Gabriel shouted as he moved to parry a cut to his hip.

Crowley appeared in their midst, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. Mae's last glimpse of the battle was Gabriel slashing at Raphael, then she was back in her living room.

Bobby turned on the demon. "Where the fuck did you go?" He yelled. He tried to grab Ruby's knife away from Mae, but she yanked it away.

"There were more demons surrounding the house." Crowley explained, backing away from the looming Winchesters. "I went to help Gabriel fight them off." He protested.

"He's right," added Mae. The men turned on her. "Gabriel told me. He was delayed by some sort of battle outside the house."

Crowley dusted off his suit. "See." He looked gratefully towards Mae, but then he grimaced. "I hope that's not your blood."

"No, it's not." Mae looked at her hands. They were coated with congealing demon blood. When she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, it looked as though she had splattered herself with red war paint.

"So what about Gabriel?" Sam seemed concerned. "We just left him there."

"He'll be fine," assured Crowley. "He can hold his own against Raphael."

"He couldn't against Lucifer," Dean pointed out.

"Raphael isn't nearly as intelligent as Lucifer," Crowley replied with a wave of his hand. "He'll be fine. Perhaps a bit worse for wear, but fine."

"I'm going to go wash my hands." Mae started towards the kitchen.

"Don't touch anything," Bobby shouted at her retreating back.

The stood in tense silence until Mae returned.

"Red's a good color on you. You should make it permanent." Crowley joked.

She grimaced. "The hair? It is." Mae looked at him, curiosity mingled with the blood. "You're not like most demons." She told him

He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Your face is different," she shrugged.

"Of course it is. Do you expect me to go around wearing the same face as another demon?"

"Not your meatsuit's face. Your real face."

"You can see my real face?" Crowley asked in astonishment.

"Only flashes. It's not like I'm constantly looking at your real face."

"Interesting. I never knew the souls had those sorts of abilities."

"It might be because I was possessed for so long. When I was possessed I could see the real faces of everyone around me. It's how I knew something was wrong with Raphael."

"How did he . . . she . . . it manage to get out of the circle of holy oil?" Dean asked, "I mean it's trapped Raphael before. Why didn't it work this time?"

Mae looked sorrowfully at her feet. "I think Raphael is falling," she muttered at her feet.

"Falling?" Crowley's brows drew together.

"Headlong flaming from the ethereal sky with hideous ruin and combustion down to bottomless perdition."

"Milton. Well done." Crowley was impressed

Before Crowley could question her further, Gabriel appeared. He looked a little beat up, but he certainly didn't look like he had just fought with his equally powerful brother.

Mae rushed to his side. "Are you alright?"

"Good as new," Gabriel replied. He smirked, making a lollipop and a loveseat appear at the same time. He licked the lollipop and plopped down on the loveseat. "Pop a squat, sweetie."

Mae sat. She was about to say something, but Bobby cut her off.

"Thank you," he told Gabriel, "for saving my daughter. I owe you one."

"Actually you lot owe me two." Gabriel stated frankly.

"Two?" Sam queried.

"We?" added Dean.

"I got Raphy to tell me the location of that book you're looking for. I tricked it out of him while we were fighting. He always did let himself get distracted."

"Where is it?" Dean jumped.

"The Seventh Gate."

"Oh no," Crowley said. "You can't be serious? It's suicide!"

"For those of us who can die, perhaps. "

"Wait. What's the Seventh Gate?" asked Sam.

"The Seventh Gate leads straight to Hell," Crowley told him.

"So to get this book we have to go to Hell?" Bobby was stunned.

"No, not to Hell," said Gabriel, "but to the edge of Hell. On the borderlands between our world and Hell there lies a great plain. There, Cerberus stalks the lost souls of the dead – those who were sent to Hell but never made it."

Dean's brows knit. "Cerberus? As in giant three-headed dog?"

"Not exactly," Crowley broke in. "There is a three-headed dog, but it's not as big as everyone seems to think. And its name isn't Cerberus. The dog's owner is named Cerberus. Over the years he came out with the dog less and less, so the people of that era began to call the dog by its owner's name. It stuck."

"So we have to make it to the Seventh Gate, be sure not to cross the border into Hell, avoid a three-headed dog and perhaps its owner, find the book, and get out." Bobby summarized.

"Pretty much," nodded Gabriel.

Mae sighed. "Looks like I'm going to be sticking around a little while longer."

Bobby smiled wide. Dean grimaced and Sam chuckled.

Mae smirked at Dean, then yawned. "Time for me to get some sleep. It's been a long night."

"We should all probably get some rest," Sam confessed.

Crowley and Gabriel vanished, and the remaining four scattered to their beds. Mae stopped by the bathroom to try to get the blood off her face and out of her hair.

Mae stared at her bedraggled, blood-spattered reflection in the bathroom mirror. She had finally managed to get the matted blood out of her hair, but there were still speckles and smears peppering her face. She wet and lathered her face. Bending over the sink, she washed off the pink-tinged bubbles. Thankfully, blood is easier to clean from skin than hair. Mae stood, patting her face dry. A slight smile played across her face.

She glanced into the mirror, checking for any more crimson splotches. But it wasn't blood that caught her eye – Gabriel was sitting on the toilet behind her, a smirk plastered to his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mae whirled, immediately on the offensive.

"Whoa," Gabriel stood, revealing the toilet seat was down, "Nothing dirty, just sitting. I mean, there's a reason they call it the throne – it's shockingly comfortable."

"Just… Don't DO that!" Mae turned back to the mirror, completely missing Gabriel's joke.

"Do what?" Gabriel feigned innocence.

Mae glared at him in the mirror. "Don't just appear and watch. It's creepy."

"Fine," Gabriel shrugged. "What're you doing anyways?"

"Just washing my face," Mae rubbed at a small red speck near her jaw line.

"Washing your face." Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. So?" She moved on to a streak near her hairline.

"So I never knew washing your face could bring such bliss."

Mae stopped scrubbing and turned to face him. She spoke softly, "When you've been possessed as long as I have you begin to miss the little things. A soft bed, warm water to wash your face – you begin to appreciate the details."

"Well sure," Gabriel responded, "I just didn't expect getting the blood off would be that important."

Mae's eyes narrowed.

"It's just," Gabriel stammered out, "I thought you'd be used to all the blood on your face."

"Excuse me?" Mae's voice was a dagger.

"Well, you had blood on your face a lot when you were a vampire, didn't you?" Gabriel immediately regretted saying it.

"How _dare_ you?" Mae stormed out of the bathroom. She shouted over her shoulder as she stomped the length of the hallway to her room. "Do you think I _chose_ to have peoples' blood on my hands? That I _wanted_ to kill them? Do you think I got _used_ to it? Oh, just another day, just some random bastard dead on the floor, his blood on my face!"

Gabriel followed her down the hall. "No, that's not what I meant! I didn't mean— " Mae slammed the door in his face.

As the door snapped shut, Mae turned, resting her back against the rough wood. Sighing, she closed her eyes. She knew she had overreacted. She took a deep breath, then another. She opened her eyes.

Gabriel was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Fucking angels!" Mae exclaimed, her temper flaring. She went to leave.

"Wait." He begged. "I'm sorry." Gabriel hung his head dejectedly.

Mae sighed. He sounded earnest. Cautiously she walked to her bed and sat down next to the angel. "It's alright." She admitted begrudgingly. "I over-reacted."

Gabriel snorted. "Well don't we make a lovely pair. An emotionally stunted and unobservant archangel and a hypersensitive…" Gabriel trailed off. "I don't know what to call you." He finally said.

Mae looked him in the eye. "I'm just as human as the rest of them," she said.

Gabriel was the first to look away. "Well, I should be going. You need sleep." Gabriel rose and walked to the door.

Mae spotted something dark and slick on his shirt. "Wait!" she stood.

Gabriel turned back to her. "What?"

"Turn around." He obeyed. Gingerly Mae reached out, touching two fingers to the wet patch. "Is that – That's blood!" she said, her nose crinkling and brow furrowing.

"I-it's nothing," Gabriel feigned nonchalance.

"No, it's not." Mae grabbed his shoulder, turning him back to face her. She shoved her bloodied fingers in his face. "This is your blood. What's wrong?"

"Raphael nicked my wing when we were fighting," he admitted.

"And you didn't mention it to anyone?" Mae asked softly.

"It's not important. I'll be fine in a week or so."

"A week?"

"It was an archangel sword. It takes a while for those wounds to heal."

Mae shook her head. "Sit." She jerked her head towards the bed. "I'll go get a first aid kit."

"It's fine." Gabriel insisted

"You said it'll take at least a week to heal. Can it get infected?"

"Well yeah, but it's not like that'd kill me. Archangel, remember?" Gabriel teased.

Mae wasn't up for ant of his humor. "No, it won't kill you, but it'll slow you down, won't it?"

He nodded weakly.

"Sit." Mae ordered again. "And take your shirt off. We'll need to wash it." She headed out the door.

Gabriel unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He sat in silence for a couple minutes, until Mae reentered the room.

She took a damp cloth as wiped away the blood on his back. "I can't bandage the wound if I can't see it." She murmured.

Gabriel shifted, leaving one leg dangling from the bed. He rolled his head, loosening his shoulders. As he stared straight ahead, black outlines flickered, then solidified.

Mae's lips parted in wonder. Gabriel's wings nearly stretched from her headboard to her door. The feathers were long and delicate-looking. The color resembled an oil slick – black one moment, then pink, then yellow, then green – never the same color for more than a few seconds. There was a chunk cut out of the right wing near Gabriel's shoulder. She dabbed at it with the cloth, eliciting a pained grunt from Gabriel. Carefully, Mae wrapped the wing, wincing every time he flinched beneath her touch. Once she was done, she ran her hands gently over his wings. The feathers were soft, and shifted like the wind was rustling them when her hand passed over. A soft sigh of pleasure dripped from Gabriel's lips.

"They're beautiful." Mae whispered breathlessly as she slid her right hand to the joint where the wing met Gabriel's back.

With his right hand, Gabriel reached back and clasped her wrist. He gradually drew her hand over his shoulder. Slowly, as if she were a deer he would startle, Gabriel brushed the back of her hand with his lips. When she didn't draw back, he turned it over, kissing her palm, then moving up to her wrist.

That was when she drew back. Gabriel's wings dissolved like mist as he turned to face her. Mae's cheeks were flushed. She refused to meet his gaze.

"I need some sleep." her voice steady despite her discomposure.

"Yeah," he said, "I'll go. Good night. Sweet dreams." He got up to leave. Her voice made him pause at the door.

"I'll change the bandage tomorrow night." She looked up from her hands.

He nodded, a sad, sweet smile playing on his lips. He left her in darkness, sitting on her bed.


End file.
